“I never feared to have you come home before,” she sobbed. “I thought he would tear you limb from limb.”
“But how did all this happen?” said I.
“Och! I kin hardly remember,” said the girl from under her handkerchief.
“Well, I didn't ask you,” I said, somewhat too sharply.
“Oh, I'll tell you,” said Euphemia. “There was a man at the gate and he looked suspicious and didn't try to come in, and Mary was at the barn looking for an egg, and I thought this was a good time to see whether the dog was a good watch-dog or not, so I went and unchained him—”
“Did you unchain that dog?” I cried.
“Yes, and the minute he was loose he made a rush at the gate, but the man was gone before he got there, and as he ran down the road I saw that he was Mr. Henderson's man, who was coming here on an errand, I expect, and then I went down to the barn to get Mary to come and help me chain up the dog, and when she came out he began to chase me and then her; and we were so frightened that we climbed up here, and I don't know, I'm sure, how I ever got up that fence; and do you think he can climb up here?”
“Oh no! my dear,” I said.
“An' he's just the beast to go afther a stip-ladder,” said the girl, in muffled tones.
“And what are we to do?” asked Euphemia. “We can't eat and sleep up here. Don't you think that if we were all to shout out together, we could make some neighbor hear?”
“Oh yes!” I said, “there is no doubt of it. But then, if a neighbor came, the dog would fall on him—”
“And tear him limb from limb,” interrupted Euphemia.
“Yes, and besides, my dear, I should hate to have any of the neighbors come and find us all up here. It would look so utterly absurd. Let me try and think of some other plan.”
“Well, please be as quick as you can. It's dreadful to be—who's that?”
I looked up and saw a female figure just entering the yard.
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