away from the house. "But they will happen, you know--they will happen."

"What do you mean?" asked the boy quickly. "Who's had an accident?"

"Well, you see a man with the rheumatism ain't so sure of his footing
as is one who ain't got no such affliction."

"And my father?" began Richard, his heart jumping suddenly into his
throat.

"Your father as a painter often climbed long, limbery ladders as he
hadn't oughter," continued Boswell soberly.

"Is he--is he _dead_?" gasped the boy, standing stock-still.

"No, oh, _no_!" exclaimed the young farmer. "But he had an awful
fall, and he's pretty bad. I thought I'd tell you first, 'cause it
might shock your mother."

"Where is he?"

"The men is bringing him up the road. Here they come now. You'd better
go back, and kinder break the news to the folks. I'm terribly gritty--as
gritty as any man--but I can't do that!"

Richard did not hear the last words. Trembling from head to foot, he
sped up the road to meet four men, carrying a rude stretcher between
them and slowly approaching.