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But a crisis came at last. It was a Saturday afternoon–uncle being exercised by dog in usual way–nervous children playing in road, see dog, scream, and run–playful young dog thinks it a game, jerks chain out of uncle’s grasp, and flies after them–uncle flies after dog, calling it names–fond parent in front garden, seeing beloved children chased by savage dog, followed by careless owner, flies after uncle, calling him names–householders come to doors and cry, “Shame!”–also throw things at dog–things don’t hit dog, hit uncle–things that don’t hit uncle, hit fond parent–through the village and up the hill, over the bridge and round by the green–grand run, mile and a half without a break! Children sink exhausted–dog gambols up among them–children go into fits–fond parent and uncle come up together, both breathless.

“Why don’t you call your dog off, you wicked old man?”

“Because I can’t recollect his name, you old fool, you!”

Fond parent accuses uncle of having set dog on–uncle, indignant, reviles fond parent–exasperated fond parent attacks uncle–uncle retaliates with umbrella–faithful dog comes to assistance of uncle, and inflicts great injury on fond parent–arrival of police–dog attacks police–uncle and fond parent both taken into custody–uncle fined five pounds and costs for keeping a ferocious dog at large–uncle fined five pounds and costs for assault on fond parent–uncle fined five pounds and cost for assault on police!

My uncle gave the dog away soon after that. He did not waste him. He gave him as a wedding-present to a near relation.

But the saddest story I ever heard in connection with a bull-dog, was one told by my aunt herself.

Now you can rely upon this story, because it is not one of mine, it is one of my aunt’s, and she would scorn to tell a lie. This is a story you could tell to the heathen, and feel that you were teaching them the truth and doing them good. They give this story out at all the Sunday-schools in our part of the country, and draw moral lessons from it. It is a story that a little child can believe.

It happened in the old crinoline days. My aunt, who was then living in a country-town, had gone out shopping one morning, and was standing in the High Street, talking to a lady friend, a Mrs. Gumworthy, the doctor’s wife. She (my aunt) had on a new crinoline that morning, in which, to use her own expression, she rather fancied herself. It was a tremendously big one, as stiff as a wire-fence; and it “set” beautifully.

They were standing in front of Jenkins’, the draper’s; and my aunt thinks that it–the crinoline–must have got caught up in something, and an opening thus left between it and the ground. However this may be, certain it is that an absurdly large and powerful bull-dog, who was fooling round about there at the time, managed, somehow or other, to squirm in under my aunt’s crinoline, and effectually imprison himself beneath it.

Finding himself suddenly in a dark and gloomy chamber, the dog, naturally enough, got frightened, and made frantic rushes to get out. But whichever way he charged; there was the crinoline in front of him. As he flew, he, of course, carried it before him, and with the crinoline, of course, went my aunt.

But nobody knew the explanation. My aunt herself did not know what had happened. Nobody had seen the dog creep inside the crinoline. All that the people did see was a staid and eminently respectable middle-aged lady suddenly, and without any apparent reason, throw her umbrella down in the road, fly up the High Street at the rate of ten miles an hour, rush across it at the imminent risk of her life, dart down it again on the other side, rush sideways, like an excited crab, into a grocer’s shop, run three times round the shop, upsetting the whole stock-in-trade, come out of the shop backward and knock down a postman, dash into the roadway and spin round twice, hover for a moment, undecided, on the curb, and then away up the hill again, as if she had only just started, all the while screaming out at the top of her voice for somebody to stop her!

Of course, everybody thought she was mad. The people flew before her like chaff before the wind. In less than five seconds the High Street was a desert. The townsfolk scampered into their shops and houses and barricaded the doors. Brave men dashed out and caught up little children and bore them to places of safety amid cheers. Carts and carriages were abandoned, while the drivers climbed up lamp-posts!

What would have happened had the affair gone on much longer–whether my aunt would have been shot, or the fire-engine brought into requisition against her–it is impossible, having regard to the terrified state of the crowd, to say. Fortunately for her, she became exhausted. With one despairing shriek she gave way, and sat down on the dog; and peace reigned once again in that sweet rural town.