breeze was gently strewing the tangled curls, as if to hide it from
mortal view, while the poor, worn, spirit fled away to peace and
rest.

"Sunshine!" exclaimed Dora, gently moving the heavy head that still
drooped lower and lower, until now the face was hidden from view.

"She has fainted!" said Dora, looking anxiously about her. No house
and no person were in sight, nor any stream or pond of water; and
the young girl decided that the wisest course would be to drive home
as rapidly as possible, postponing all attempt to revive her little
patient until her arrival there.

Without checking the horse, she dragged from under the seat a
quilted carriage-robe, and spread it in the bottom of the wagon,
arranging a paper parcel as a pillow. Then, laying poor Sunshine
upon this extemporized couch, she took off her own light shawl, and
covered her; leaving exposed only the face, white and lovely as the
marble statue recumbent upon a little maiden's tomb.

"Now, Pope!" cried Dora, with one touch of the whip upon the glossy
haunch of the powerful beast, who, at sound of that clear voice,
neighed reply, and darted forward at the rate of twelve good miles
an hour; so that, in considerably less than the promised time, Dora
skilfully turned the corner from the road into a green country lane,
and, a few moments after, stopped before the door of an
old-fashioned one-story farm-house, painted red, with a long roof
sloping to the ground at the back, an open well with a sweep and
bucket, and a diamond-paned dairy-window swinging to and fro in the
faint breeze. Around the irregular door-stone, the grass grew close