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“Whoa!” called Jehosophat, in front of the gate.

Then he got out and knocked at the door.

It opened. Johnny’s Mother was there.

Jehosophat took off his hat.

“Good-morning, Mrs. Cricket, can we take Johnny for a ride in my new cart?”

“Of course,” replied she. “My! Won’t Johnny be glad to go for a ride in that pretty cart! He’s been very lonesome.”

So out hobbled Johnny, all smiles. Crunch, crunch, crunch went his crutch down the gravel walk.

“Hepzebiah, you’ll have to sit in the back with Marmaduke,” commanded the owner of the little cart.

So the little girl climbed over the back of the seat and sat with Marmaduke and Wienerwurst. And they helped Johnny in carefully, and off they drove up the lane, enjoying the woods and the nice warm sun. Johnny enjoyed it ever so much, but not more than they. I guess the three children were quite as happy, for to make others happy brings the best sort of happiness.

At last they turned round and drove back.

They were just trotting past the Miller Farm when they heard a great growl.

Over the fields, with great leaps, a big dog was running. Now Jake Miller’s dog, Prowler, was the worst dog in the neighbourhood. Often the three children had heard Father say “He ought to be shot.”

And there he was–running straight towards them, and little Wienerwurst had jumped over the tailboard and out of the wagon, and was trotting alongside.

“Urrururur,” growled Prowler. He had almost reached the gate. He was long and big, and really looked more like a savage animal than a dog. Pieces of chain hung from his neck and dragged alongside in the earth as he ran. He must have broken away from his kennel.

Through the gate he bounded, then stopped still and growled in suspicion.

“Out–out–out!” he seemed to be saying. He thought they had no right in front of his home, not even when they were driving on the road, which was free to all.

The three happy children and Little Geeup didn’t like the looks of things very much.

“Here, Wienerwurst–come here,” called Marmaduke. He wanted his little dog to jump back in the wagon and be safe.

But Wienerwurst was no coward. Besides, he was a friendly little fellow, and liked to be polite to everybody, dogs and people too, even if sometimes he did chase the pretty pink pigeons and the White Wyandottes. But that was just in fun, of course.

So he just stood still and looked at the big bad dog and wagged his tail in a friendly way, and smiled.

But that big bad dog Prowler didn’t appreciate that at all. He opened his big jaws and showed his teeth and gave a deep growl.

“Out–out–out!” he repeated.

And then Wienerwurst gave his tail a wag, and advanced a step or two.

Quick as lightning Prowler jumped at him.

Wienerwurst didn’t run. Yet he was so little and the other dog was so big. And his ear hurt too, where the other dog bit him.

The big dog was jumping at him again and again and biting him too, but I guess Wienerwurst must have heard Father and the Toyman tell the boys once never to start a fight, but always to stand up for one’s rights, and never to be a coward, or run away.

That Prowler had no right at all to tell him to get off the road nor to bite him!

And so, though he was only a yellow dog and small and weak, Wienerwurst barked bravely and tried his best to fight off the big dog.

It wasn’t a very happy chorus of growls and barks and squeals. It sounded something like this:

“Gurrrrr–gurrr-uh–ow–ow–gurr–gurr–ow–wuf–ar–gurr–ow–wow–uh- wuf–xxx–x!!!”

Jehosophat pulled on the reins.

“We must stop that,” said he. “Hepzebiah you sit here.”

Out he jumped, but his brother was ahead of him, for Marmaduke loved Wienerwurst even more than they did.

At the big dog’s collar they pulled, and they grabbed tight hold of his chain, trying to drag him away so that he wouldn’t hurt little Wienerwurst. But he was very strong, that wicked bad dog. They couldn’t budge him at all.