a breath.

"Who's your folks? What's broke? How'd she fall? Where is she? Why
didn't she come right here? Is it a sunstroke?"

As fast as words could tumble out of his mouth Ben answered, and then
tried to free himself, but the old lady held on while she gave her
directions, expressed her sympathy, and offered her hospitality with
incoherent warmth.

"Sakes alive! poor dear! Fetch her right in. Liddy, get out the
camphire, and Melissy, you haul down a bed to lay her on. Falls is
dretful uncert'in things; shouldn't wonder if her back was broke.
Father's down yender, and he and Bijah will see to her. You go call
'em, and I'll blow the horn to start 'em up. Tell her we'll be pleased
to see her, and it wont make a mite of trouble."

Ben heard no more, for as Mrs. Paine turned to take down the tin horn
he was up and away.

Several long and dismal toots sent Lita galloping through the grassy
path as the sound of the trumpet excites a war-horse, and "father and
Bijah," alarmed by the signal at that hour, leaned on their rakes to
survey with wonder the distracted-looking little horseman approaching
like a whirlwind.

"Guess likely grandpa's had 'nother stroke. Told 'em to send over
soon's ever it come," said the farmer calmly.

"Shouldn't wonder ef suthing was afire some'r's," conjectured the