"Don't you think you had better go after the doctor, father?" asked the
good woman. "Some of his bones may be broken, or he may be injured
inwardly."

"I shall not go for any doctor," snarled the squire. "Do you think I will
trust myself out doors while that howling mob is hanging round the house?"

"Fred can go," suggested Susan.

"He can, but he shall not," growled the squire, throwing himself into his
arm chair in the corner, with an appearance of indifference and unconcern,
which were far from representing the actual state of his mind.

Mrs. Pemberton said no more, but she and Susan went to work upon the
sufferer with camphor and hartshorn in good earnest, and in a short time
they had the satisfaction of seeing him open his eyes. They continued the
treatment for some time longer, with the most satisfactory result, till
Tom astonished them by jumping off the sofa, and standing up in the middle
of the room. He rubbed his forehead, hunched up his left shoulder, and
felt of his shins.

"Are you hurt, Thomas?" asked Mrs. Pemberton, with more of tenderness in
her tones than the squire deemed proper for the occasion.

"No, marm, I guess not," replied Tom. "My shoulder feels a little stiff,
and I think I barked one of my shins; but I shall be as good as new by
to-morrow."

But there was an ugly bump on the side of his head, which he had not yet
discovered, but which Susan pointed out to him. He acknowledged the bump,