up one corner of the wagon when Grandma Padgett brought her
spectacles to bear upon the scene.

One hind wheel had been splintered by the train, the leap of the
gray turning the wagon from the road. Grandma Padgett preserved her
composure and asked few questions. Her lips moved at frequent
intervals for a long time after this accident. But aunt Corinne flew
out of the carriage, and felt her nephew's arms and wailed over the
bump his cheek received, and was sure his legs were broken, and that
Zene limped more than ever, and that the train had run straight
across their prostrate forms.

Zene busied himself with shamefaced eagerness in getting the wagon
off the road and preparing to hunt a shop. He made piteous grimaces
over every strap he unfastened.

"We cannot leave the goods standing here in the wagon with nobody to
watch 'em," said the head of the caravan. "It's nigh dinner-time, and
we'll camp in sight, and wait till we can all go on together. A
merciful Providence has brought us along safe so far. We mustn't git
separated and run ourselves into any more dangers than we can help."

Zene lingered only to pitch the camp and find water at a spring
running down into a small creek. Then he bestrode one of the wagon
horses, and, carrying the broken wheel-hubs, trotted away.

Grandma Padgett tucked up her dress, took provisions from the wagon,
and got dinner. Aunt Corinne and her nephew made use of this occasion
to lay in a supply of nuts for winter. The nuts were old ones, lying
under last autumn's leaves, and before a large heap had been