"Samanthy!" and the farmer's voice trembled, "mebby she the gal from
the asylum! She that escaped! Let's load her up on the cart and fetch
her home."

"You old skinflint! To cal'late on the half-dead girl," and she raised
Dorothy's head tenderly. "But all the same she got to get somewhere,
and ours is as near as any other house. Here, take hold," she put her
arms about the helpless form. "Mercy on us! Lucky if she don't die
before we get her there. Make that horse know he's to go. If that whip
won't do, yank up a tree and let him have it."

The farmer trembled visibly as he helped put poor Dorothy in the
wagon. If she could only have known!

The woman dragged off her apron and her jacket to make something of a
pillow for the pretty yellow head, that lay so still. Suddenly
Dorothy opened her eyes.

"As sure as you live," whispered Samanthy, "It _is_ that girl from the
san--sanitation! I saw her once out with the nurse, and this is her!"

"And there's a reward----"

"Shet up!" she snapped. "Lay still, dearie. You're awful weak and
we're taking you home."

"Home!" murmured Dorothy in a dazed way.

"Yes, to mommer and popper!" This from the farmer.