If Frank supposed that Mr. Craven had forgotten or forgiven Pompey's attack upon him, he was mistaken. Within a week after Mr. Craven had been established as a permanent member of the household, Katy, looking out of the kitchen window, saw him advancing stealthily to a corner of the back yard with a piece of raw meat in his hand. He dropped it on the ground, and then, with a stealthy look around, he withdrew hastily.

"What is he doin', sure?" said the astonished Katy to herself; then, with a flash of intelligence, she exclaimed, "I know what he manes, the dirty villain! The meat is p'isoned, and it's put there to kill the dog. But he shan't do it, not if Katy O'Grady can prevint him."

The resolute handmaid rushed to the pantry, cut off a piece of the meat meant for the morrow's breakfast, and carrying it out into the yard, was able, unobserved by Mr. Craven, to substitute it for the piece he had dropped. This she brought into the kitchen, and lifting it to her nose, smelled it. It might have been Katy's imagination, but she thought she detected an uncanny smell.

"It's p'isoned, sure!" she said. "I smell it plain; but it shan't harm poor Pomp! I'll put it where it'll never do any harm."

She wrapped it in a paper, and carrying it out into the garden, dug a hole in which she deposited it.

"Won't the ould villain be surprised when he sees the dog alive and well to morrow morning?" she said to herself, with exultation.

Fifteen minutes later, Mr. Craven, from an upper window, had the satisfaction of seeing the dog greedily eating what he supposed would be his last meal on earth.

"That'll fix him!" he muttered, smiling viciously. "He won't attack me again very soon. Young impudence will never know what hurt the brute. That's the way I mean to dispose of my enemies."

Probably Mr. Craven did not mean exactly what might be inferred from his remarks, but he certainly intended to revenge himself on all who were unwise enough to oppose him.

Mr. Craven watched Pompey till he had consumed the last morsel of the meat, and then retired from the window, little guessing that his scheme had been detected and baffled.

The next morning he got up earlier than usual, on purpose to enjoy the satisfaction of seeing his four-footed enemy stretched out stiff and stark. What was his astonishment to see the dog jumping over a stick at the command of his young master. Had he suddenly seen Pompey's ghost (supposing dogs to have ghosts), he could scarcely have been more astonished or dismayed.

"Goodness gracious! that dog must have a cast-iron constitution!" he said to himself. "There was enough strychnine on that meat to kill ten men. I don't understand it at all."

"He looks as if his grandmother had died and left him nothin' at all in her will," said Katy to herself, slyly watching him out of the window. "The ould villain's disappinted sure, and it's Katy O'Grady he's got to thank for it, if he only knew it."

"Good morning, sir," said Frank, for the first time noticing the presence of Mr. Craven.

"Good morning, Frank," replied his step-father, opening his mouth with his customary smile. "Pompey seems lively this morning."

"Yes, sir. I am teaching him to jump over this stick."

"Good dog!" said Mr. Craven, patting him softly.

"Oh, the ould hypocrite!" ejaculated Katy, who had slyly opened the window a trifle and heard what he said. "He tries to p'ison the poor creeter, and thin calls him good dog."

Mr. Craven meanwhile was surveying Pompey curiously.

"I certainly saw him eat the meat," he said to himself, "and I am sure it was tainted with a deadly poison. Yet here the dog is alive and well, after devouring every morsel of it. It is certainly the most curious case I ever heard of."

Mr. Craven went into the house, and turned to the article on strychnine in an encyclopÆdia, but the statements he there found corroborated his previously formed opinion as to the deadly character and great strength of the poison. Pompey must certainly be an extraordinary dog. Mr. Craven was puzzled.

Meanwhile Katy said to herself:

"Shall I tell Master Frank what Mr. Craven tried to do? Not yit. I'll wait a bit, and while I'm waitin' I'll watch. He don't suspect that Katy O'Grady's eyes are on him, the villain!"

It may not be considered suitable generally for a maid-of-all-work to speak of her employer as a villain; but then Katy had some grounds for her use of this term, and being a lady very decided in her language, it is not singular that such should have been her practice.

Notwithstanding the apparent superiority of Pompey's constitution to the deadliest poison, Mr. Craven's murderous intent was by no means laid aside. He concluded to try another method of getting him out of the way. He had a pistol in his trunk, and he resolved to see if Pompey was bullet-proof as well as poison-proof.

Three days later, therefore, when Frank was at school, and Mrs. Craven was in attendance at the house of a neighbor, at a meeting of the village sewing-circle, Mr. Craven slipped the pistol into his pocket and repaired to the back yard, where Pompey, as he anticipated, was stretched out in the sun, having a comfortable nap.

"Pompey," said Mr. Craven, in a low tone, "come here. Good dog."

Pompey walked up, and, grateful for attention, began to fawn upon the man who sought to lure him to death.

"Good dog! Fine fellow!" repeated Mr. Craven, stroking him.

Pompey seemed to be gratefully appreciative of the kindness.

Low and soft as were his tones—for he did not wish to attract any attention—Mr. Craven was overheard. Katy O'Grady's ears were sharp, and at the first sound she drew near to the window, where, herself unobserved, she was an eye and ear witness of Mr. Craven's blandishments.

"What is the ould villain doin' now?" she said to herself. "Is he going to thry p'isonin' him again?"

But no piece of meat was produced. Mr. Craven had other intentions.

"Come here, Pompey," said he, soothingly; "follow me, sir."

So saying, he rose and beckoned the dog to follow him.

Pompey rose, stretching his limbs, and obediently trotted after his deadly foe.

"Where's he takin' him to?" thought Katy. "He manes mischief, I'll be bound. The misthress is gone, and Master Frank's gone, and he thinks there ain't nobody to interfere. Katy O'Grady, you must go after him and see what he's up to."

Katy was in the midst of her work, but she didn't stop for that. She had in her hand a glass tumbler, which she had been in the act of wiping, but she didn't think to put it down. Throwing her apron over her head, she followed Mr. Craven at a little distance. He made his way into a field in the rear of the house. She went in the same direction, but on the other side of a stone wall which divided it from a neighboring field. From time to time she could catch glimpses, through the loosely laid rocks, of her employer, and she could distinctly hear what he was saying.

"My friend Pompey," he said, with a smile full of deadly meaning, "you are going to your death, though you don't know it. That was a bad job for you when you attacked me, my four-footed friend. You won't be likely to trouble me much longer."

"What's he going to do to him?" thought Katy; "it's not p'ison, for he hasn't got any meat. May be it's shootin' him he manes."

Mr. Craven went on.

"Poison doesn't seem to do you any harm, but I fancy you can't stand powder and ball quite so well."

"Yes, he's goin' to shoot him. What will I do?" thought Katy. "I'm afraid I can't save the poor creetur's life."

By this time Mr. Craven had got so far that he considered it very unlikely that the report of the pistol would be heard at the house. He stopped short, and, with a look of triumphant malice, drew the pistol from his pocket. Pompey stood still, and looked up in his face.

"How can he shoot the poor creetur, and him lookin' up at him so innocent?" thought Katy. "What will I do? Oh, I know—I'll astonish him a little."

Mr. Craven was just pointing the pistol at Pompey, when Katy flung the tumbler with force against his hat, which rolled off. In his fright at the unexpected attack, the pistol went off, but its contents were lodged in a tree near by, and Pompey was unhurt.

Mr. Craven looked around him with startled eyes, but he could not see Katy crouching behind the wall, nor did he understand from what direction the missile had come.