I thought I might as well go to it,
so I tucked William Adolphus under my arm and marched up the path.
Just as I was half-way up, a dog swooped around the front corner
and made straight for me. He was the ugliest dog I had ever seen;
and he didn't even bark--just came silently and speedily on,
with a business-like eye.
I never stop to argue matters with a dog that doesn't bark.
I know when discretion is the better part of valour.
Firmly clasping William Adolphus, I ran--not to the door,
because the dog was between me and it, but to a big,
low-branching cherry tree at the back corner of the house.
I reached it in time and no more. First thrusting William Adolphus
on to a limb above my head, I scrambled up into that blessed tree
without stopping to think how it might look to Alexander Abraham
if he happened to be watching.
My time for reflection came when I found myself perched half way up
the tree with William Adolphus beside me. William Adolphus was quite
calm and unruffled. I can hardly say with truthfulness what I was.
On the contrary, I admit that I felt considerably upset.
The dog was sitting on his haunches on the ground below, watching us,
and it was quite plain to be seen, from his leisurely manner,
that it was not his busy day.
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