Part 3 (2/2)

”Why don't somebody kill him?”

”They are afraid of him,” said Hans.

”I should think they might kill him,” Paul replied.

”I reckon you would run as fast as anybody else, if he should show himself round here,” said Hans.

”There he is! Run! run! run for your lives!” was the sudden cry.

Paul looked up the street, and saw a very large bull-dog coming upon the trot. Never was there such a scampering. People ran into the nearest houses, pellmell. One man jumped into his wagon, lashed his horse into a run, and went down the street, losing his hat in his flight, while Hans Middlekauf went up a tree.

”Run, Paul! Run! he'll bite you!” cried Mr. Leatherby from the window of his shoe-shop. People looked out from the windows and repeated the cry, a half-dozen at once; but Paul took no notice of them. Those who were nearest him heard the click of his gun-lock. The dog came nearer, growling, and snarling, his mouth wide open, showing his teeth, his eyes glaring, and white froth dripping from his lips. Paul stood alone in the street. There was a sudden silence. It was a scene for a painter,--a barefoot boy in patched clothes, with an old hat on his head, standing calmly before the brute whose bite was death in its most terrible form.

One thought had taken possession of Paul's mind, that he ought to kill the dog.

Nearer, nearer, came the dog; he was not a rod off. Paul had read that no animal can withstand the steady gaze of the human eye. He looked the dog steadily in the face. He held his breath. Not a nerve trembled. The dog stopped, looked at Paul a moment, broke into a louder growl, opened his jaws wider, his eyes glaring more wildly, and stepped slowly forward. Now or never, Paul thought, was his time. The breach of the gun touched his shoulder; his eye ran along the barrel,--bang! the dog rolled over with a yelp and a howl, but was up again, growling and trying to get at Paul, who in an instant seized his gun by the barrel, and brought the breech down upon the dog's skull, giving him blow after blow.

”Kill him! kill him!” shouted the people from the windows.

”Give it to him! Mash his head!” cried Hans from the tree.

The dog soon became a mangled and b.l.o.o.d.y ma.s.s of flesh and bones. The people came out from their houses.

”That was well done for a boy,” said Mr. Funk.

”Or for a man either,” said Mr. Chrome, who came up and patted Paul on his back.

”I should have thrown my lapstone at him, if I could have got my window open,” said Mr. Leatherby. Mr. Noggin, the cooper, who had taken refuge in Leatherby's shop, afterwards said that Leatherby was frightened half to death, and kept saying, ”Just as like as not he will make a spring and dart right through the window!”

”n.o.bly, bravely done, Paul,” said Judge Adams. ”Let me shake hands with you, my boy.” He and Mrs. Adams and Azalia had seen it all from their parlor window.

”O Paul, I was afraid he would bite and kill you, or that your gun would miss fire. I trembled all over just like a leaf,” said Azalia, still pale and trembling. ”O, I am so glad you have killed him!” She looked up into his face earnestly, and there was such a light in her eyes, that Paul was glad he had killed the dog, for her sake.

”Weren't you afraid, Paul?” she asked.

”No. If I had been afraid, I should have missed him, perhaps; I made up my mind to kill him, and what was the use of being afraid?”

Many were the praises bestowed upon Paul. ”How n.o.ble! how heroic!” the people said. Hans told the story to all the boys in the village. ”Paul was just as cool as--cool as--a cuc.u.mber,” he said, that being the best comparison he could think of. The people came and looked at the dog, to see how large he was, and how savage, and went away saying, ”I am glad he is dead, but I don't see how Paul had the courage to face him.”

Paul went home and told his mother what had happened. She turned pale while listening to the story, and held her breath, and clasped her hands; but when he had finished, and when she thought that, if Paul had not killed the dog, many might have been bitten, she was glad, and said, ”You did right, my son. It is our duty to face danger if we can do good.” A tear glistened in her eye as she kissed him. ”G.o.d bless you, Paul,” she said, and smiled upon him through her tears.

All the dogs which had been bitten were killed to prevent them from running mad. A hard time of it the dogs of New Hope had, for some which had not been bitten did not escape the dog-killers, who went through the town knocking them over with clubs.

Although Paul was so cool and courageous in the moment of danger, he trembled and felt weak afterwards when he thought of the risk he had run. That night when he said his evening prayer, he thanked G.o.d for having protected him. He dreamed it all over again in the night. He saw the dog coming at him with his mouth wide open, the froth dropping from his lips, and his eyes glaring. He heard his growl,--only it was not a growl, but a branch of the old maple which rubbed against the house when the wind blew. That was what set him a-dreaming. In his dream he had no gun, so he picked up the first thing he could lay his hands on, and let drive at the dog. Smas.h.!.+ there was a great racket, and a jingling of gla.s.s. Paul was awake in an instant, and found that he had jumped out of bed, and was standing in the middle of the floor, and that he had knocked over the spinning-wheel, and a lot of old trumpery, and had thrown one of his grandfather's old boots through the window.

”What in the world are you up to, Paul?” his mother asked, calling from the room below, in alarm.

”Killing the dog a second time, mother,” Paul replied, laughing and jumping into bed again.

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