Then he resumed his advance to the open outer door, doing so
with great care and stealth, as if afraid of being heard by the brute.
The entrance to the old Woodvale school building was reached by two
steps, consisting of the same number of broad high stones worn smooth
by the feet of the hundreds of children that had trod them times
without number. To make his way into the entry where the pupils hung
their hats and bonnets on the double rows of pegs, Tod had to move
slowly and carefully use his crutches. Being tipped with iron he could
not set them down on the smooth stones without causing noise.
But he acted without hesitation. The teacher read his purpose and knew
it was useless to try to check him. He leaned his head out of the
window and held his breath, while he watched him.
Tod never faltered, though none could have understood the danger he ran
better than he. He had a brother and sister among the children that
had scattered in such haste before the snapping cur, and who were
gathering again around the building despite the warning gesture of the
teacher.
He could not know whether they had all escaped or not, but he was sure
that if the dog came forth again, more than one of them must suffer,
and in those days there was no Pasteur with his wonderful cure to whom
the afflicted ones could be taken.
Tod did not tremble, though it seemed to him the brute must hear the
tumultuous throbbing of his heart and rush forth.
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