voice was enough for the dog; he began to scale the hill-side toward the
house without a moment's stay.

The children still crouched together, and Westover could hardly make them
understand that they were in his keeping when he bent over them and bade
them not be frightened. The little girl set about wiping the child's eyes
on her apron in a motherly fashion; her own were dry enough, and Westover
fancied there was more of fury than of fright in her face. She seemed
lost to any sense of his presence, and kept on talking fiercely to
herself, while she put the little boy in order, like an indignant woman.

"Great, mean, ugly thing! I'll tell the teacher on him, that's what I
will, as soon as ever school begins. I'll see if he can come round with
that dog of his scaring folks! I wouldn't 'a' been a bit afraid if it
hadn't 'a' been for Franky. Don't cry any more, Franky. Don't you see
they're gone? I presume he thinks it smart to scare a little boy and a
girl. If I was a boy once, I'd show him!"

She made no sign of gratitude to Westover: as far as any recognition from
her was concerned, his intervention was something as impersonal as if it
had been a thunder-bolt falling upon her enemies from the sky.

"Where do you live?" he asked. "I'll go home with you if you'll tell me
where you live."

She looked up at him in a daze, and Westover heard the Durgin boy saying:
"She lives right there in that little wood-colored house at the other end
of the lane. There ain't no call to go home with her."

Westover turned and saw the boy kneeling at the edge of a clump of