"And could I have better company to watch and listen with?" I exclaim.
"For with you a tea-king, Tim, and I a lawyer, it would be just the
same, would it not?"

"That's just what I was trying to get at," says Tim. "Suppose that day
of the fox-hunt you had not carried Weston----"

I hold up my hand to check him.

"Were it to happen a hundred times over, I would take him to Mary's," I
cry. "Else he would have died."

"You are right, Mark," Tim says.

* * * * * *

I took Weston to Mary's house that day when I found him lying in the
charcoal clearing, with little Colonel standing over him wailing.
Tearing open his coat and shirt, I stanched his wound as best I could.
Then I called the others to me. Tip and Arnold picked him up and
carried him, while Murphy Kallaberger and I broke a path through the
bushes, and Aaron ran on to Warden's to tell them of the accident and
have them prepare for the wounded man. Warden's was the nearest house,
but that was a mile from the clearing, and in the woods our progress
was slow. Once free of the ridges and in the open fields the way was
easy, and Murphy could lend a hand to the others.

"He's monstrous light," Tip said. "He doesn't seem no more than skin
and bones in fancy rags."