"Trapped, you see," said I. "Are you after the fox--or some nobler game?"

"I was going my rounds," answered Harry, "when I caught sight of the
hounds. I have no very pressing case to day, so I turned a few yards out
of the road to see a bit of the sport. Confound these railways!"

At the moment--and all this passed, as the story-teller is so often
compelled to remind his reader, in far less time than it takes to tell--
over the hedge on the opposite side from where Harry had entered the
field, blundered a country fellow, on a great, heavy, but spirited horse,
and ploughed his way up the soft furrow to where we stood.

"Doctor!" he cried, half-breathless with haste and exertion--"Doctor!"

"Well?" answered Henry, alert.

"There's a awful accident at Grubblebon Quarry, sir. Powder blowed up.
Legs and arms! Good God! sir, make haste."

"Well," said Harry, whose compressed lips alone gave sign of his being
ready for action, "ride to the town, and tell my housekeeper to give you
bandages and wadding and oil, and splints, and whatever she knows to be
needful. Are there many hurt?"

"Half a dozen alive, sir."

"Then you'd better let the other doctors know as well. And just tell my
man to saddle Jilter and take him to by brother, the curate. He had better
come out at once. Ride now."