He was too late, for the great train had struck him. There was a rush of air, a thunder of wheels, and a heavy thud; and poor, obstinate Dan was lying twenty feet away under a tree, quivering and gasping for breath, with the blood streaming from his nose and mouth, and with a terrible gash in his head.
The dogs all ran to his assistance, lapped his wounds, and spoke to him; but he did not move or answer.
Just then Aunt Polly came running out.
"Oh, Dannie, Dannie!" she cried, "they have killed you!"
She picked him up in her arms, and carried him into the house, and laid him tenderly on the best sofa, and then sent for the dog doctor.
When he saw poor Dan he shook his head.
"I am afraid he will die," he said; "but I will do what I can for him."
So he bathed his wounds and sewed up his head. This was very painful, for he used a sharp needle and took several stitches.
"Oh, dear!" moaned Dan while he was doing it, "if I ever get well I will do as people tell me."
In spite of the doctor's predictions, Dan grew steadily better, until at the end of three weeks he was well enough to be moved out on the piazza, where several of the dogs came to see him. They were very good to him, and did not remind him that they had told him better.
In a couple of months he was nearly as well
