“Guess I’ll chain him up until the rain sets in,” said Mr. Evans. However, the dog refused to be tied, avoiding his master and snapping whenever he approached. Suddenly he gave a roar and sprang right at Mr. Evans’ throat,--the man tripped and fell, which was the best thing he could possibly have done under the circumstances, as the dog ignored him, and, snapping right and left, dashed out of the gate and down the road towards the Graham place. “Great Heavens! The brute is mad!” gasped Evans. If any one has seen a dog go mad, he will testify that it is not a pretty sight. The maddened animal raced at top speed along the road, snapping wildly at sticks and stones along the way, with froth and foam flying from his mouth, his mammoth jaws closing and unclosing like the teeth of an enormous trap. Straight down the road and straight through the gate that opened into the Graham yard dashed the enormous Great Dane--he was a hideous sight to the bravest; what he looked like to George no one will ever know. Graham, sitting on the porch, realized in an instant what had happened, and sprang to the dining-room to get his rifle,--right in the path was little Louise, with her dolls, sitting around a little table, in the midst of a party--she rose to her feet, the great frenzied brute but a few yards distant, her face paling, her lips unable to utter a sound. Graham was quick, but not quick enough,--the dog would be upon the child before he could possibly get ready to shoot, but quicker than Graham, quicker than the dog, was George,--what he felt, what he suffered in those few seconds, the Lord alone can tell--with a wild scream, he threw himself right in the path of the maddened Great Dane, right at his throat, shrieking and striking wildly with both clenched fists at the huge head and body of the dog. With a snarl, the dog turned and caught the negro boy,--but it was here that Providence took a hand, for he grabbed not George himself, but his coat, worn and shabby from much use, and the coat came off in his jaws,--before the dog could turn and renew the attack, Mr. Graham shot twice rapidly from the porch and the dog fell, writhing terribly in his death agonies. White as a sheet, Graham ran quickly down the path and snatched Louise up in his arms,--but Mrs. Graham, who had been an agonized eyewitness of the near-tragedy, was almost as quick to reach George--throwing her arms around him, she sobbed, “God bless you, George; that was the bravest thing I ever saw.” And in this way, George, the despised and ignored newsboy, who had always been called a coward, came into his own. Such is true courage. Poor boy, he was afraid, fearfully, awfully afraid! But he did not hesitate to risk everything to save the golden-haired little daughter of his employer.