Lita threw up her head and neighed loud and clear as if she called her mistress, and turning, would have gone again if Ben had not caught the reins and held her.

“All right, we’ll find her;” and, pulling off the broken saddle, kicking away his shoes, and ramming his hat firmly on, Ben was up like a flash, tingling all over with a sense of power as he felt the bare back between his knees, and caught the roll of Lita’s eye as she looked round with an air of satisfaction.

“Hi, there!  Mrs. Moss!  Something has happened to Miss Celia, and I’m going to find her.  Thorny is asleep; tell him easy, and I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

Then, giving Lita her head, he was off before the startled woman had time to do more than wring her hands and cry out: 

“Go for the Squire!  Oh, what shall we do?”

As if she knew exacty what was wanted of her, Lita went back the way she had come, as Ben could see by the fresh, irregular tracks that cut up the road where she had galloped for help.  For a mile or more they went, then she paused at a pair of bars which were let down to allow the carts to pass into the wide hay-fields beyond.  On she went again cantering across the new-mown turf toward a brook, across which she had evidently taken a leap before; for, on the further side, at a place where cattle went to drink, the mud showed signs of a fall.

“You were a fool to try there, but where is Miss Celia?” said Ben, who talked to animals as if they were people, and was understood much better than any one not used to their companionship would imagine.

Now Lita seemed at a loss, and put her head down as if she expected to find her mistress where she had left her, somewhere on the ground.  Ben called, but there was no answer, and he rode slowly along the brook-side, looking far and wide with anxious eyes.

“May be she wasn’t hurt, and has gone to that house to wait,” thought the boy, pausing for a last survey of the great, sunny field, which had no place of shelter in it but one rock on the other side of the little stream.  As his eye wandered over it, something dark seemed to blow out from behind it, as if the wind played in the folds of a skirt, or a human limb moved.  Away went Lita, and in a moment Ben had found Miss Celia, lying in the shadow of the rock, so white and motionless he feared that she was dead.  He leaped down, touched her, spoke to her, and receiving no answer, rushed away to bring a little water in his leaky hat to sprinkle in her face, as he had seen them do when any of the riders got a fall in the circus, or fainted from exhaustion after they left the ring, where “do or die” was the motto all adopted.

In a minute, the blue eyes opened, and she recognized the anxious face bending over her, saying faintly, as she touched it: 

“My good little Ben, I knew you’d find me—­I sent Lita for you—­I’m so hurt I couldn’t come.”

“Oh, where?  What shall I do?  Had I better run up to the house?” asked Ben, overjoyed to hear her speak, but much dismayed by her seeming helplessness, for he had seen bad falls, and had them, too.