“Now drive a little carefully, Pete,” he said, suppressing a groan, “and look out for the ruts, I’d rather not be jolted.

“And you, Sim, ride on ahead and lead Prince.  I want you to get in before us, ask for my father and tell him I’ve had an accident; am not seriously hurt, but want my mother prepared.  She must not be alarmed by seeing me brought in unexpectedly, in this state.”

His orders were obeyed, Jim reached Ion some ten minutes ahead of the wagon and gave due warning of its approach.  He met his master in the avenue and told his story in a tolerably straightforward manner.

“Where is Mr. Edward now?” asked Mr. Travilla.

“De wagon’s jes down de road dar a piece, sah; be here in ’bout five minutes, sah.”

“Then off for the doctor, Jim, as fast as you can go.  Here, give me Prince’s bridle.  Now don’t let the grass grow under your horse’s feet.  Either Dr. Barton, or Dr. Arthur; it doesn’t matter which; only get him here speedily.”  And vaulting into the saddle Mr. Travilla rode back to the house, dismounted, throwing the bridle to Solon, and went in.

Opening the door of the drawing-room where the family were gathered: 

“Wife,” he said cheerfully, “will you please step here a moment?”

She came at once and followed him down the hall, asking, “What is it, Edward?” for her heart misgave her that something was wrong.

“Not much, I hope, dearest,” he said, turning and taking her in his arms.  “Our boy, Eddie, has done a brave deed and suffered some injury by it, but nothing serious, I trust.  He will be here in a moment.”

He felt her cling to him with a convulsive grasp, he heard her quick coming breath, the whispered words, “Oh, my son!  Dear Lord, help!” then, as the rumble of the wagon wheels was heard nearing the door, she put her hand in his, calm and quiet, and went forth with him to meet their wounded child.

His father helped him to alight, and supported him up the veranda steps.

“Don’t be alarmed, mother, I’m not badly hurt,” he said, but staggered as he spoke, and would have fallen but for his father’s sustaining arm, and by the light from the open door, she saw his eyes close and a deadly pallor overspread his face.

“He’s fainting!” she exclaimed, springing to his other side.  “Oh, my boy, this is no trifle!”

Servants were already crowding about them, and Eddie was quickly borne to his room, laid upon the bed, and restoratives administered.

“Fire!” his mother said with a start and shudder, pointing to his singed locks, “oh, where has the child been?”

Her husband told her in a few words.

“And he has saved a life!” she cried with tears of mingled joy and grief, proud of her brave son, though her tender mother heart ached for his suffering.  “Thank God for that, if—­if he has not sacrificed his own.”

The door opened and Arthur Conly came in.