it was only wounded; and, staggering to its feet again, it
made another dash forward.

[Illustration: "DON LEVELLED HIS RIFLE AND FIRED."]

Don was now so encouraged, so thankful that his shot had been true,
that, as he raised his gun a second time, he scarcely realized his
danger, and was almost as cool as if firing at the target on the range,
although the dog was now barely a dozen feet away. This was the last
chance. The flash leaped from his rifle, and at the same moment Donald
sprang up and ran for the tree as fast as his legs could carry him. But,
before the smoke had cleared, a happy cry came from the girls in the
tree. He glanced back, to see the dog lying motionless upon the ground.

Quickly reloading his gun, and never taking his finger from the trigger,
he cautiously made his way back to the spot. But there was nothing to
fear now. He found the poor brute quite dead, its hours of agony over.

The group that soon gathered around looked at it and at one another
without saying a word. Then Dorry spoke: "Stand back, everybody! It's
dangerous to go too near. I've often heard that."

A hint was sufficient. Indeed, the shuddering girls already had turned
away, and the boys now drew aside, though with rather an incredulous
air.

"It ought to be buried deep, just where it lies," suggested Ed; and
Donald, nodding a silent assent, added, aloud: "Poor fellow! Whose dog
can he be?"

"Why it's our General!" cried one of the boys. "As sure as I live it is!
He was well yesterday." Then, turning pale, he added: "Oh, I must go
right home--"

"Go with him, some of you fellows," Don said, gravely; "and Dot, suppose
you run and let Uncle know. Ask him if we shall bury it right here."

"He will say 'yes,' of course," cried Dot, excitedly, as she started
off. "I'll send Jack right back with spades."

"Yes; but tell Uncle!" Don shouted after her.

CHAPTER.

A FROLIC ON THE WATER.

DONALD had won the gratitude of many Nestletown fathers and mothers, and
had raised himself not a little in the estimation of the younger folk,
by his encounter with the rabid dog. That it was a case of hydrophobia
was settled by the testimony of some wagoners, who had seen the poor
animal running across the road, but who, being fearful of having their
horses bitten, had not attempted to stop him. Though all felt sorry for
"General," everybody rejoiced that he had been put out of his misery,
and that he had not bitten any one in his