l favourably impressed
at first, changed their minds and decided that he was a "right smart
little fellow."

It was while playing "hide and seek" in the big barn with half-a-dozen
of these youngsters, that Bert had a narrow escape from serious injury,
if not, indeed, from death. The great, gaping mows were being filled
with hay, which was pitched in any way, and not, of course, packed
firmly. Consequently, it was in some places like snow upon the Alpine
slopes--ready to fall in an avalanche, at the slightest temptation.

In endeavouring to reach a far corner of the barn, where he felt sure no
one could possibly find him, Bert tried to cross a hill of hay, that had
piled up in one division of the mow. His hasty movements were just what
was needed to bring the whole mass toppling down in confusion to the
bottom of the mow. Unfortunately for him, he was involved in the
overthrow, and without a moment's warning was buried beneath a huge mass
of hay. As he went sliding helplessly down he uttered a cry of terror,
which startled little Rory Chisholm, who sprang out from his
hiding-place just in time to see poor Bert disappear.

"Hi! Hi! boys--come here; Bert Lloyd's under the hay."

The boys quickly gathered, and with eager hands set to work, to rescue
their imperiled playmate. But, vigorously though they toiled, it was
slow progress they made; and in the meantime the little fellow, pressed
upon by many hundredweight of hay, was fast losing breath and
consciousness. He could hear them very indistinctly, but could not make
a sound himself.

By a fortunate accident, one of the men happened along, just as the
boys were near giving up the task as too great for them.

"Donald! Donald! Quick! Bert Lloyd's under the hay. Dig him out, or
he'll die," cried Rory, at the top of his voice.

Seizing a pitchfork, Donald attacked the hay like a giant, getting more
and more careful as he drew near the bottom of the mow, until at last,
with a shout of "I've got him," he stooped down and dragged the
senseless form of Bert from the very bottom of the pile. Taking him in
his arms, he ran with him to the house, and gave Aunt Sarah a great
fright by suddenly plumping him into her lap, as she sat on the verandah
reading, saying, breathlessly:

"Here, miss, bring him to, and he'll be none the worse for it."

Aunt Sarah screamed for hartshorn, spirits of wine, and the dear knows
what, but Mrs. Lloyd, bringing a glass of water, dashed it free