The old man checked his garrulous tongue to rise and peer into the darkness, while Dorothy sprang to her feet beside him, straining her own eyes to follow his pointing finger.
“There is, there is! Looks like a man or boy or bicycle or something and that horrid car is coming right toward it! Make ’em stop! Holloa! Loud, loud, for they don’t see him! they’ll run over him – he’ll be killed!”
But still the gay occupants of the car observed nothing; till at last a fiercer shriek from Dorothy sounded above their laughter and instantly hushed it, while the driver of the machine looked curiously at the cart which the wise oxen, perceiving their own danger, had drawn out of harm on the roadside. But the stop had been too late. Though the motor was swerved aside, it had already collided with the objects in its path, and it was in a terrified silence that the merrymakers descended from it.
But even old John had been quicker than they and was now bending above the lad crushed beneath the forward wheels of this hated “go-devil.”
“Oh! my poor lad! Oh! my sunny Robin!” he groaned: then in a fury of anger at the great machine, tried his strength to lift it from its victim.
Fortunately there were several men in the party, and the car well equipped against mischance, and so it was swiftly forced away, while the farmer again stooped over the motionless lad beneath and tenderly raised him in his arms. For a moment the group gathered about the pair believed that the boy was dead; then a low moan from his white lips mingled with the lamentations of John Gilpin and brought relief to everyone.
Again came flashes of lightning and the growls of thunder, and the owner of the car exclaimed:
“Lay the boy in the motor and we’ll get him to a hospital at once. Maybe he isn’t so badly hurt as seems. Pile up the cushions, somebody, and give him to me, old man. I’m stronger than you and better used to sick folks. Doctor Winston is my name.”
“The more shame to you then for what you’ve done this night!” hotly retorted old John, clasping his burden the closer and moving slowly toward his own humble cart.
“Idiot! Don’t put him in that shaky wagon. Delay may cost his life. Hospital’s the place and the car is swiftest!” cried another of the gentlemen, indignantly. “Of course we’ll see to it that he has the best of care with no expense spared.”
As if he had not heard, old John still moved away, quietly ordering Dorothy:
“Undo that shawl of yours. Roll them barrels out of the wagon. Take off your jacket and make a piller of it. Spread the shawl out and cover him with part of it whilst I lay him down. Poor little Robin! The ‘only son of his mother and she was a widow.’”
Dorothy was glad to obey this strange old man who had been so genial and was now so stern, and it relieved her distress to be doing something to help. But as she tried to roll the barrels out, a hand fell on her arm and the doctor said:
“I’ll do that, Miss. They’re too heavy for you. I wish you persuade your grandfather to trust me with this poor boy. It would be so much better.”
“He isn’t my grandfather. I don’t know him – I mean he was taking me – ”
But her words fell upon deaf ears, apparently. Having sent the empty barrels flying where they would, the doctor had now taken the pile of cushions somebody had brought him and arranged them on the wagon bottom. Next he calmly relieved John Gilpin of the injured boy and laid him gently down. Shaking out Dorothy’s thick steamer rug, her “shawl,” he carefully covered Robin and, sitting down beside him, ordered:
“Drive on, farmer! Chauffeur, follow with the car. Lady Jane, the medicine case. To the nearest house at once.”
There was no resisting the firm authority of the physician and John Gilpin climbed meekly to his seat and at his urgent “gee-ho” the oxen started onward at a steady gait. But despite his anxiety there was a satisfaction in their owner’s mind that the “nearest house” would be his own and that it would be his capable “Dame” who would care for Robin and not a hospital nurse.
Meanwhile Dorothy seemed forgotten both by the people who had returned to their car and Mr. Gilpin; so, fearing that she would be left alone by the roadside, she sprang upon the end of the cart and sat there, her feet dangling over its edge.
Now, indeed, her adventure was proving anything but amusing. What would Aunt Betty think of her heedless action? Or her dear guardian, Seth Winters, the “learned Blacksmith,” wisest of men, whom the reader of this series will recall in “Dorothy’s Schooling.” Would she ever reach Oak Knowe, and how would this escapade be regarded there?
Into her troubled thoughts now broke a sound of pain, that drove everything save pity from her mind. The rain was now falling fast and drenching her new clothes, but her anxiety was only that the injured boy should not get wet and she was glad that her rug was so thick and warm. It had been a parting gift from her “House-Boat” guests and held almost sacred as a memento of their happy trip together.
But now the oxen were turning into a lane. She could dimly see the hedgerows on either side, that now and then the lightning flashes showed more plainly; and, after a time, something big and white seemed to block their way. A moment more and the white obstruction proved to be a cottage with a lamp shining through its window. Then a door opened and a woman’s voice called cheerily:
“Welcome home, my man! You’re late the night. Met you up with any trouble? Didn’t the apples sell well?”
“More trouble than you dream, Dame, and I’ve fetched it for you to share. Light the bedroom to once. ’Tis the dead – or dyin’ – is here.”
Without a word the woman turned away, moving heavily because of her great size, and an inner door opened, showing a comfortable bed, its covers already invitingly spread back. Lighting more candles the dame stood quietly aside, waiting her unexpected guest.
The doctor brought the boy in, still wrapped in the rug and, tossing that to the floor, gently laid him down. John followed close behind, announcing:
“’Tis Robin, Dame, our bonny Robin of the Glen. The heart of the mother will break. He – ”
“Help here. Hot water, please. More light. An old sheet for bandages. Don’t dally. Undress him, Lady Jane.”
“But, doctor, I’m afraid!” objected that lady who, partly from curiosity, partly to avoid the rain, had followed the physician into the house.
Indeed, all the motoring party had now swarmed into the kitchen, intending to be quiet yet really chattering noisily, and some of them sniffing covetously the odors from a great pot of soup, steaming away on the stove. But nobody was quite ready to respond to the doctor’s appeals for help, even Mrs. Gilpin being confused and stupid before these strangers who had taken possession of her home.
As for old John, he could simply stand and stare at the unconscious lad on the bed, too dazed and grieved to be of any use whatever.
Not so Dorothy, who had entered with the rest and who noticed Dr. Winston’s impatience – who knew that a hospital was where his patient should be and not this ill-equipped cottage. Throwing off her dripping jacket, she cried:
“I’ll