So we find the same young ladies in the present story, still indulging in their favorite pastime—­getting into and out of mischief.

They had been out riding on an improvised chariot—­a hayrick of the old-fashioned kind, like a cradle, filled with the fragrant timothy and redtop, when the accident, narrated in the first chapter, took place.

As Tavia and Dorothy ran after the wagon containing their friends, while the vehicle swayed from side to side in the road, they saw it give a sudden lurch, and almost topple over on the steep embankment which descended to the river.

Dorothy gave a gasp of fear, and Tavia covered her eyes with her hand.  The next moment Dorothy saw the driver of the wagon crawling out from a clump of bushes.  Guessing that he was not badly hurt, she ran on, for she had halted momentarily when she saw the vehicle sway so dangerously.  Together she and Tavia sprang forward, to reach, if possible, before it toppled over, the swaying, bounding wagon.

Whether from an unconquerable spirit of fun, or from motives purely humane, Tavia had snatched up armful after armful of the loose hay, which had been spilled out on the road.  In doing this she never halted in her running, but stooped over, like some gleaner in a field, urged on by the approach of night.

“Oh!” cried Dorothy.  “If we can only reach them before——­”

A figure darted out on the road just ahead of them, and the unexpected move interrupted Dorothy’s exclamation.

“Oh, a man!” shouted Tavia, who was somewhat in advance.  “Now we—­will be—­all right!”

Yes, a man had started down the hill after the runaway, but just how or why Tavia was sure that this would make things right, was not clear to Dorothy.

“He can run!” she called, “Can’t he, Tavia?”

“Can’t he!” replied Tavia.  “But I’m not going to let him have all the glory.  Here,” and she tossed a bundle of hay to Dorothy.  “Take it along for the—­hospital beds.  I’m going—­to—­run!”

“Going—­to!” repeated Dorothy, all out of breath from her own efforts to catch up to the runaway.

But Tavia darted on.  The strange man kept well ahead.  Dorothy paused one moment from sheer exhaustion.  Then she saw the wagon overturn!

The next instant she noted that the stranger had grabbed the horse by the trailing reins.

“Quick!” shrieked Tavia.  “The girls may be under the cart!”

With strength gathered from every desperation Dorothy ran on.

She was beside the overturned wagon now, and without uttering a word she crawled in through the upright sticks, down amid the dust and hay.

Three girls, so wound together as to look like one, lay on one side of the wrecked vehicle.

“Dorothy!” gasped Rose-Mary.  “Are you safe!”

“Yes, but you—­Nita and Edna?” gasped Dorothy, pantingly.

“I think Nita has fainted,” replied Rose-Mary.  “But Edna is all right.  Where is Tavia?”