most asleep when he heard a rumble of heavy wheels, and looking
ahead languidly perceived a wagon laden with household goods of some
spring-flitters approaching. He sat still and watched the great wagon
drawn by two lean, white horses, and piled high with the poor household
belongings--miserable wooden chairs and feather beds, and a child's
cradle rocking imminently on the top. A lank Jerseyman was driving. By
his side on the high seat was his stout wife holding a baby. The weak
wail of the child filled the air. James looked to make sure that there
was room for the team to pass. He thought there was, and sat idly
watching them. The woman looked at him, made some remark to the man, and
then both grinned weakly, recognizing the situation. The man on the team
drove carefully, but a stone on the outer side caused his team to swerve
a trifle. The wheels hit the wheels of the buggy, and the cradle tilted
swiftly on to the back of the balky mare, and she bolted. In all her
experience of a long, balky life, a cradle as a means of breaking her
spirit had not been encountered. James had not time to clutch the lines
which had fallen to the floor of the buggy before he was thrown out. He
felt the buggy tilting to its fall, he heard a crashing sound and a
fierce kicking, and then he knew no more.

When he came to himself he was on the lounge in Doctor Gordon's office.
Emma was just disappearing with a pitcher in the direction of the
kitchen, and he felt something cool on his forehead. He smelled aromatic
salts, and heard a piteous little voice, like the bleat of a wounded
lamb, in his ears, and kisses on his cheeks, and a soft hand rubbing his
own. "Oh, darling," the little voice was saying, "oh, darling, are you
much hurt? Are you? Please speak to me. It is Clemency. Oh, he is dead!
He is dead!" Then came wild sobs, and Emma rushed into the room, and he
heard her say, "Here, put this ice on his head, quick!"

James was still so faint that he could only gasp weakly. And he could
open his eyes to nothing but darkness and a marvellous spinning and whir
as of shadows in a wind.

"He's comin' to," said Emma. Her voice sounded as if she felt moved.
"Don't take on so, Miss Clemency," she said; "he ain't dead."

Again James felt the soft kisses and tears on his face, and again came
the poor little voice, "Oh, darling, please listen, please don't do so.
I will marry you. I will. I know you did just right. I read one of Uncle
Tom's books