When about
a yard from Mrs. Crofton, he stopped dead, and emitted a series of short,
wild howls, while his hair bristled and stood on end, and his eyes flamed
blood red.
They were all so surprised--so extremely taken aback by Flick's
behaviour--that no one moved. Then Mrs. Crofton gave a kind of gasp, and
covering her face with her hands, cowered back in the corner of the sofa.
Timmy jumped up from the stool where he had been sitting, and as he did
so, his mother called out affrightedly: "Don't go near Flick, Timmy--he
looks mad!"
But Timmy was no coward, and Flick was one of the few living things he
loved in the world. He threw himself on the floor beside his dog.
"Flick," he said warningly, "what's the matter, old chap? Has anything
hurt you?" As he spoke he put out his skinny little arms, and Flick,
though still shivering and growling, began to calm down.
The little boy waited a moment, Flick panting convulsively in his arms,
then he gathered the dog to him, and, getting up from the floor, walked
quickly through the open window into the garden.
For a moment no one stirred--and then Mr. Tosswill, who had been sitting
rather apart from the rest of the party, got up and shut the window.
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