“But who will take care of the other one?” said Mrs. Enderby.  “We musn’t leave her there in the woods alone, you know—­especially the crazy one.  There and back is eight miles, you see.”

They had all been sitting on the grass beside the buggy for a while, now, trying to rest their weary bodies.  They fell silent a moment or two, and struggled in thought over the baffling situation; then Mrs. Enderby brightened and said: 

“I think I’ve got the idea, now.  You see, we can’t walk any more.  Think what we’ve done:  four miles there, two to Moseley’s, is six, then back to here—­nine miles since noon, and not a bite to eat; I declare I don’t see how we’ve done it; and as for me, I am just famishing.  Now, somebody’s got to go back, to help Mr. Brown—­there’s no getting mound that; but whoever goes has got to ride, not walk.  So my idea is this:  one of us to ride back with Mr. Brown, then ride to Nancy Taylor’s house with one of the Old People, leaving Mr. Brown to keep the other old one company, you all to go now to Nancy’s and rest and wait; then one of you drive back and get the other one and drive her to Nancy’s, and Mr. Brown walk.”

“Splendid!” they all cried.  “Oh, that will do—­that will answer perfectly.”  And they all said that Mrs. Enderby had the best head for planning, in the company; and they said that they wondered that they hadn’t thought of this simple plan themselves.  They hadn’t meant to take back the compliment, good simple souls, and didn’t know they had done it.  After a consultation it was decided that Mrs. Enderby should drive back with Brown, she being entitled to the distinction because she had invented the plan.  Everything now being satisfactorily arranged and settled, the ladies rose, relieved and happy, and brushed down their gowns, and three of them started homeward; Mrs. Enderby set her foot on the buggy-step and was about to climb in, when Brown found a remnant of his voice and gasped out—­

“Please Mrs. Enderby, call them back—­I am very weak; I can’t walk, I can’t, indeed.”

“Why, dear Mr. Brown!  You do look pale; I am ashamed of myself that I didn’t notice it sooner.  Come back-all of you!  Mr. Brown is not well.  Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Brown?—­I’m real sorry.  Are you in pain?”

“No, madam, only weak; I am not sick, but only just weak—­lately; not long, but just lately.”

The others came back, and poured out their sympathies and commiserations, and were full of self-reproaches for not having noticed how pale he was.

And they at once struck out a new plan, and soon agreed that it was by far the best of all.  They would all go to Nancy Taylor’s house and see to Brown’s needs first.  He could lie on the sofa in the parlor, and while Mrs. Taylor and Mary took care of him the other two ladies would take the buggy and go and get one of the Old People, and leave one of themselves with the other one, and——­