; shouldn't wonder if her back was broke.
Father's down yender, and he and Bijah will see to her. You go call 'em,
and I'll blow the horn to start 'em up. Tell her we'd be pleased to see
her, and it won't make a mite of trouble."

Ben heard no more, fur as Mrs. Paine turned to take down the tin horn he
was up and away.

Several long and dismal toots sent Lita galloping through the grassy
path as the sound of the trumpet excites a war-horse, and "father and
Bijah," alarmed by the signal at that hour, leaned on their rakes to
survey with wonder the distracted-looking little horseman approaching
like a whirlwind.

"Guess likely grandpa's had 'nother stroke. Told 'em to send over soon
's ever it come," said the farmer, calmly.

"Shouldn't wonder ef suthing was afire some'r's," conjectured the hired
man, surveying the horizon for a cloud of smoke.

Instead of advancing to meet the messenger, both stood like statues in
blue overalls and red flannel shirts, till the boy arrived and told his
tale.

"Sho, that's bad," said the farmer, anxiously.

"That brook always was the darndest place," added Bijah; then both men
bestirred themselves helpfully, the former hurrying to Miss Cella while
the latter brought up the cart and made a bed of hay to lay her on.

"Now then, boy, you go for the doctor. My own folks will see to the
lady, and she'd better keep quiet up yender till we see what the matter
is," said the farmer, when the pale girl was lifted in as carefully as
four strong arms could do it. "Hold on," he added, as Ben made one leap
to Lita's back. "You'll have to go to Berryville. Dr. Mills is a master
hand for broken bones and old Dr. Babcock ain't. 'Tisn't but about three
miles from here to his house, and you'll fetch him 'fore there's any
harm done waitin'."

"Don't kill Lita," called Miss Celia from the cart, as it began to move.

But Ben did not hear her, for he was off across the fields, riding as if
life and death depended upon his speed.

"That boy will break his neck," said Mr. Paine, standing still to watch
horse and rider go over the wall as if bent on instant destruction.

"No fear for Ben, he can ride any thing, and Lita was trained to leap,"
answered Miss Celia, falling back on the hay with a groan, for she had
involuntarily raised her head to see her little squire dash away in
gallant style.

"I should hope so; regular jockey, that boy. Never see any thing like it
out of a race-ground," and Farme