“Here is the end of the barbed wire fence,” called Anne, who had been hurrying ahead; “and a pent lane leads from it. As this is the inside end, if we follow it, we must get somewhere; for there are ever so many roads like these that run from the turnpike into back lots and woodlands. I think we would all better keep in the middle of the lane away from the trees,” she added, as a flash of lightning almost dazzled her. “Father says it is always best to keep in the open if you are out in a storm.” “Do you know where you are going, or are we lost?” asked Elsa Willoughby, shortly. “If we had kept on the road, Miss Jule would find us, for she will surely send back for us when she sees the storm coming; but here no one will know where we are,” said Martica, wrenching herself free from a strong catbrier vine. “I’m trying to go toward the turnpike,” replied Anne, in a shaking voice, “but--” Before she could finish they heard the bark again, this time close ahead; but it had a tired, discouraged sound, and was not at all aggressive. “I see him,” said Miss Letty, joyfully; “it’s a collie, too. There must be a farm somewhere near.” As they reached the dog it stopped its feeble barking, but did not move. “Don’t go near him, he may bite,” cried Louise; and the four Willoughbys huddled close to a big chestnut tree in spite of Anne’s warning. “Something is the matter with that dog. I wonder what it can be,” said Anne, half to herself, as she walked slowly up to him, talking familiarly as she would to Waddles or any friendly fourfoot, Miss Letty following her closely. “I see! One hind foot is caught in a fox trap, and--yes, he has broken the chain and tried to get away, only to have it caught on a stump again, and he is weak with hunger. Poor fellow, we will take the trap off, and perhaps you will be so good as to take us home with you.” “Poor fellow,” seemed to have a bad opinion of people, and to doubt their intentions; for he drew back his upper lip, showing his teeth, and then seeming to be utterly exhausted, sank down upon the ground with a pitiful whine. “I will hold his collar if you can unsnap the trap,” said Anne, turning a white, determined face to Miss Letty; while the others protested that if he was freed, they should all be bitten. “Push down the spring and put your foot on the grip crosswise,” continued Anne, “and I will pull out the paw. What if poor little Jill was caught this way and starved to death.” Miss Letty made two efforts before she succeeded. Fortunately the bone was not broken, though the flesh was cut and bruised. As the collie gave a sigh of relief, Anne ventured to rub the paw gently with the tips of her fingers, to start the blood in circulation again. This eased the poor animal so much that he licked her fingers, and, scrambling to his feet, began to limp painfully away down the lane.