"No, no," said I, "don't make a noise. It will only bring the dog.
He seems to have gone to the barn, or somewhere. Keep perfectly
quiet, and she may go up on the porch, and as the front door is not
locked, she may rush into the house, if she sees him coming."

"I do hope she will do that," said Euphemia, anxiously.

"And yet," said I, "it's not pleasant to have strangers going into
the house when there's no one there."

"But it's better than seeing a stranger torn to pieces before your
eyes," said Euphemia.

"Yes," I replied, "it is. Don't you think we might get down now?
The dog isn't here."

"No, no!" cried Euphemia. "There he is now, coming this way. And
look at that woman! She is coming right to this shed."

Sure enough, our visitor had passed by the front door, and was
walking toward us. Evidently she had heard our voices.

"Don't come here!" cried Euphemia. "You'll be killed! Run! run!
The dog is coming! Why, mercy on us! It's Pomona!"



CHAPTER VIII.