anged it carefully by the side
of the road on the grass. Then jerking open the bag he had carried, he
took out a few towels, and three soft shirts. Hastily rolling them
together for a pillow, he added it to the bed pro tem. Then he turned
again to Prudence.

"I'll carry you over here, and fix you as comfortably as I can. Then
I'll go to the nearest house and get a wagon to take you home."

Prudence was not shy, and realizing that his plan was the wise one, she
made no objections when he came to help her across the road. "I think I
can walk if you lift me up."

But the first movement sent such a twinge of pain through the wounded
ankle that she clutched him frantically, and burst into tears. "It
hurts," she cried, "don't touch me."

Without speaking, he lifted her as gently as he could and carried her to
the place he had prepared for her. "Will you be warm enough?" he asked,
after he had stood looking awkwardly down upon the sobbing girl as long
as he could endure it.

"Yes," nodded Prudence, gulping down the big soft rising in her throat.

"I'll run. Do you know which way is nearest to a house? It's been a
long time since I passed one coming this way."

"The way I came is the nearest, but it's two miles, I think."

"I'll go as fast as I can, and you will be all right This confounded
cross-cut is so out of the way that no one will pass here for hours, I
suppose. Now lie as comfortably as you can, and do not worry. I'm going
to run."

Off he started, but Prudence, left alone, was suddenly frightened.
"Please, oh, please," she called after him, and when he came back she
buried her face in shame, deep in the linen towel.

"I'm afraid," she whispered, crying again. "I do not wish to be left
alone here. A snake might come, or a tramp."

He sat down beside her. "You're nervous. I'll stay with you until you
feel better. Some one may come this way, but it isn't likely. A man I
passed on the road a ways back told me to cut through the hickory grove
and I would save a mile of travel. That's how I happened to come through
the woods, and find you." He smiled a little, and Prudence, remembering
the nature of her accident, flushed. Then, being Prudence, she laughed.

"It was my own fault. I had no business to go coasting down like that.
But the mule was so stationary. It never occurred to me that he
contemplated moving for the next century at least. He was a bitter
disappointment." She looked down