Part 34 (2/2)

It was well for both horse and rider that the latter had instinctively extricated his feet from the stirrups. As it was, the animal, more indignant, it seemed, than terrified, quietly turned under the shed, and stopped.

A magnificent splas.h.i.+ng of the water celebrated Mr. Kerchey's descent into the element. He came down like an immense frog, with outstretched arms and legs, sublime. But like anything else than a frog he began to scramble and gasp, and flounder in the puddle.

Chester dashed to the spot, dismounted, and helped him out.

To describe the ludicrous appearance of the strangling, drenched, muddy, hatless equestrian, or the effect it had upon the convulsed spectators, would be superfluous. With the exception of Chester, only Miss Sedley, a young lady of the finest feelings, and Sarah, whose conscience upbraided her for the mischief she had done, were at all able to control their mirth.

”Take me--somewhere!” gasped Mr. Kerchey seeking his handkerchief, to wipe his streaming face. ”I'm--hurt. My shoulder--Oh!”

”You haven't put any bones out, I hope?” said Chester.

”I don't know. I'm afraid,” moaned the equestrian, with a most ludicrous expression of mingled grief, pain, fright and mud. ”Oh dear! what a--a mournful termination to--to my folly!”

He sank upon the ground, and sat with his feet in the puddle, a picture of utter woe.

”Excuse me,” he said, feebly, ”I--I am very--faint.”

”He is seriously injured, I fear,” observed Miss Sedley.

”You won't let me--_die_--here in the filth--will you?” groaned Mr.

Kerchey, looking up with a despairing expression into the faces of the spectators.

Even Chester had to hide his face for laughing. But Sarah, more and more alarmed, felt never less susceptible to merriment.

”Do take him right over to Dr. Sackett's!” she exclaimed, with deep solicitude.

”Yes,” murmured the unhappy man, ”if you can get me there. I--I can't walk--I am sure!”

”We can carry you,” replied Chester. ”Come, boys!”

”Be careful that I--I don't die by the way!” whispered Mr. Kerchey, on the point of swooning.

The young men fastened their horses under the shed, rolled up their sleeves, and ”took hold.” Happily, the doctor's house was close by, and they arrived seasonably at the door, with their companion still groaning and moaning piteously. No wonder! The doctor found his excuse. Mr.

Kerchey had broken an arm, besides doing some extensive damage to his shoulder.

When informed of the true state of the case, the company were sobered at once; and Sarah, especially, was very much distressed.

”I was the cause of it all!” she exclaimed, with strong feelings of self-reproach.

”To make ample reparation,” said Jane Dustan, ”all you have to do is to take care of your victim during his recovery.”

”And I'll do it, laugh as you may!” exclaimed Sarah.

She kept her word as far as practicable. Mr. Kerchey was carried home the next day; and every afternoon, during the long week he was confined to his room, she called to inquire about his health, and often stopped to make his broth with her own hands, or to read the newspaper for him.

Mr. Kerchey loved the broth only because she made it, and when she read he was entertained by the sweet tone of her voice alone. Of course, he forgave her for frightening the horse; and if ever there was a poor fellow in love with a kind-hearted, mischievous, merry girl, it was Mr.

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