He pulled a twig from a bush and began to bite the end of it. If at that instant he had glanced down at the face beside him, he might have detected an expression that was not unjustly severe. There was a distinct ray of sympathy in the eyes that were fixed thoughtfully upon the valley. “And then all the girls met me more than half-way, as if they, too, had conspired against me.” This was said in a half-resentful, half-plaintive tone, and so delightfully free from any boastfulness that Molly, to conceal something very near a smile, bent her head and picked nettles from her skirt. “Of course I liked a good time, there is no denying that, and I struck the wrong gang at college. I suppose I was weak--everlastingly and disgustingly weak; but really you might make allowances, and anyway--” He stopped abruptly and turned about. Looking up she saw an expression in his eyes, as they gazed at something behind her, that caused her to spring to her feet and also turn about. As she did so the color left her face and her knees gave way beneath her. Instinctively she clutched his arm. Within twenty yards of them stood Barnard’s bull, and in his broad black head and cruel horns, in the distended nostrils and bloodshot eye, she read the fury of an unreasoning brute; and with it her own death and mutilation. Helpless they stood in the open pasture with no tree or refuge near. Amos cast a swift glance to the right, to the left, and behind them. The bull lowered his head just a very little, and as he stepped slowly forward she could hear his breath in impatient puffs. Her brain began to swim and she closed her eyes, but a sharp word and a rough shake brought her back with a start. “Do just as I tell you. Turn and walk slowly off to the wall at the right. Then climb over. Don’t run till I say so. Give me your parasol.” He twisted her about and gave her a push. “Don’t look around.” Gasping, faint, and so weak from terror that she could hardly direct her steps, she did as she was told. In her dazed mind there was no conception of time or distance, but, a moment after, hearing a snort from the bull and the quick pounding of his feet, she stopped and turned. She expected to see Amos on the creature’s horns, but Amos was running in the other direction, so far safe, although scarcely his own length ahead. In an instant she saw to her horror that, although a nimble runner, he was losing distance with every spring of the bull. But with a presence of mind that did much toward renewing her own courage, he kept looking over his shoulder, and when further running was hopeless, he jumped swiftly to one side, the side up the hill, and the ponderous brute plunged on for several feet before he could come to a stop. Amos looked at once in her direction, and when he saw her he shook his hand and cried, in an angry voice: “Run! Run! Your life depends on it!”