"MY son," said Mrs. Abrams, in low, gentle tone to Mark one day, as
she looked into the small library where he sat busily at work upon
something half-concealed in his hand, "come here a mimute, won't
you?"
"Are you in a hurry, mother?" he replied, lifting his black eyes,
bright with an expression of determination, and resting them full
upon his mother's face.
"No, not exactly, if you are busy; but what are you doing?"
"I'll tell you when I come in, and not keep you waiting long
either."
Mrs. Abrams quietly withdrew, and returned to the bedside of her
little daughter Rachel, who lay suffering from pain and burning with
fever.
"What can mamma do for her darling now?" said the fond mother, as
she bent her head over her child and smoothed back the fair hair
from the heated brow; "does your arm still hurt, my lamb?" The
child's moan was her only answer.
"What a pity! How cruel that your dear little arm should have been
so torn by that savage dog!" continued Mrs. Abrams, as she wet the
bandage again with the cooling lotion, and brushed away the tears
that she could not repress at the sight of her little daughter's
suffering.
The sound of footsteps, and Mark stood in the doorway, holding in
his hand a small, dark object, and said:
"Mother, do you see this? Well, I've got it ready--"
"O Mark!" interrupted his mother in horror. "When did you get that
deadly thing: I beg of you, put that pistol up at once; the very
sight of it terrifies me."
Mark laughed and replied, "I'll fix old Dame Flannagan's dog,
mother, and then I'll put it away. She hid the dog from the police,
but she can't keep it hid always. I shall kill it on sight, and go
prepared to do so. I have vowed I would."
"Let the dog alone, son, you may get into trouble if you do not,"
replied his mother.
"Indeed, I will not let the dog alone," replied Mark indignantly, as
he drew nearer to the bed whereon the suffering little sister lay,
with lacerated arm and burning brow. "To think of this dear child,
as she was innocently trundling her hoop along the side-walk, being
attacked by that savage brute, and her life so narrowly saved!
Indeed, I'll not let it alone. I'll shoot it the first time I set
eyes upon it, and the old hag had better not say anything to me
after I have done it. Poor little darling!
"What shall brother Mark bring his little sister today?" continued
the fond brother, stooping over and kissing the child again and
again, before leaving for the office of the shipping firm, of which
he had just been made a partner.
"Yes, mother," he continued, slipping the weapon of death into the
inner pocket of his coat, "I am not a warlike man, as you know, but
I'll carry this," pointing to the pistol, "till I kill that dog,
sure;" and adjusting his coat and hat he passed out of the house.
Rabbi Abrams did not reside among the palatial residences of the
Queen City. A rather restricted income compelled him to find a more
unpretentious home than was perhaps in keeping with his avocation
and position in life. Yet, carrying into practice the teaching he
set forth, to "owe no man anything," and never live beyond one's
income, he established his home in a portion of the city that was
rather characterized by low rents than aristocratic abodes. However,
they were respectable, and comfortably situated withal. Immediately
adjoining the rabbi's house lived a garrulous old Irish woman, at
once the aversion and dread of the neighborhood. Old Margery
O'Flannagan needed no protection against the incursions of
depredators, beyond the use of her own venomous tongue; still, she
further strengthened her ramparts by the aid of a dog of most savage
and ferocious propensities, that she dignified by the ominous name
of "Danger." Between her and Danger there existed the strongest bond
of friendship, if not affection. In an unexpected manner, this
savage dog had assaulted the little daughter of the rabbi, and when
the father demanded the life of the dog at the hands of the police,
she hid him away out of reach, and swearing like a pirate,
threatened to kill any man that dared molest Danger.