"Yes," Mr. Rickhart replied. "He's in the sitting-room. Do you want to see
him? Is it a wedding, Sam? You look excited."

"Should say not. It's more like a funeral. Old Tim Fraser's met with a bad
accident."

"What!"

"Yes. He was drivin' home from the river this afternoon, when that new
horse of his shied, and then bolted. The sleigh gave a nasty slew on the
icy road, and upset. Tim was caught somehow, and dragged quite a piece.
He's badly broken up, and wants to see the parson."

By this time Mr. Westmore had crossed the room, and stood before the
messenger. A startled look was in his eyes, as he peered keenly into Sam's
face.

"Tell me, is it true what I hear," he questioned, "that Fraser has been
hurt?"

"Yes, sir, and wants you at once."

"Is he seriously injured?"

"Can't tell. They're goin' fer the doctor, but it'll be some time before
he can get there. It's a long way."

"Poor Fraser! Poor Fraser!" murmured the parson. "He was a careless man. I
was bitter at him this afternoon, and now he is lying there. Quick, Dan,
get on your coat and hat; we must be off at once."