One of the running figures halted near the fence, stooping, and the watching eyes understood that the presumably injured ploughman was lying there.

“It’s Don that has stopped,” said Janet Ferry to her mother.  “Now he’ll probably have a new case on his hands.  I do hope the man isn’t much hurt.”

“I can’t stay here to look!” cried Sally, and, gathering up her lilac skirts, ran away out of the room.  In a moment they saw her flying across the wet grass, her tea-party forgotten.

“I am going too,” and Janet Ferry, delicate folds of pale gray silk caught up as Sally had caught up her muslin, was off in Sally’s train.

Josephine and Constance Carew looked at each other.  The guest nodded.  “I don’t mind the wet grass,” said she—­though one glance at the ephemeral fabric of her frock made Josephine say, as the two hurried to the hall, “Had you really better?  The grass is soaking.”

“Who cares for clothes when there’s a runaway?” replied Miss Carew.  “Besides, this will tub, and yours won’t.”

“But the man may be badly hurt,” and away went Josephine, high-heeled pumps making her flight a trifle dangerous, over the slippery turf.  And her guest ran at her side.

By the time they reached the meadow fence the team had been brought panting to a standstill, cornered by Bob and Jarvis at the far end of the meadow.  When Donald Ferry looked up from the prostrate form of the ploughman, he beheld four figures in dainty dresses also brought to a stand-still by a splintery rail fence over which it did not seem discretion to attempt to scramble unless the need were dire.

It was not dire.  Jake Kelly had only been stunned by striking his head upon a big stone just upturned by his plough.  He was already opening his eyes and the colour was returning to his sunburned face.  He put his hand to his head.

“All right,” called Ferry to the row of anxious faces by the fence, at which the tense expressions relaxed, and certain dimples began to play.  If nobody were seriously hurt, the situation certainly had its amusing side.  Five minutes ago they had all been demurely drinking afternoon tea, with the most correct society manners evident on all sides.  They had not known each other very well, but each had wondered what the others were like upon less formal occasions.  And suddenly a decidedly less formal occasion had been precipitated into their midst.

“Guess I ain’t much the wuss for wear,” declared Jake Kelly, sitting up.  “All’s hurt’s my feelin’s at havin’ that there team git away from me like that.  The old mare’s steady’s a clock—­thought she could hold the young one down, if he did git lively.  Dunno now what he took off at.  Serves me right for trustin’ ’em a minute while I lit up my pipe.”