Prudence tried to raise herself, but she felt sharp pain.  She heard some one leaping over the fence near her, and wondered, without moving her head, if it could be a tramp bent on highway robbery.  The next instant, a man was leaning over her.  “It’s not a tramp,” she thought, before he had time to speak.

“Are you hurt?” he cried.  “You poor child!”

Prudence smiled pluckily.  “My ankle is hurt a little, but I am not a child.”

The young man, in great relief, laughed aloud, and Prudence joined him rather faintly.

“I’m afraid I can not walk,” she said.  “I believe I’ve broken my ankle, maybe my whole leg, for all I know.  It—­hurts—­pretty badly!”

“Lie down like this,” he said, helping her to a more comfortable position, “do not move.  May I examine your foot?”

She shook her head, but he removed the shoe regardless of her head-shake.  “I believe it is sprained.  I am sure the bone is not broken.  But how in the world will you get home?  How far is it to Mount Mark?  Is that where you live?”

“Yes,” considering, “yes, I live there, and it must be four miles, anyhow.  What shall I do?”

In answer, he pulled off his coat, and arranged it carefully by the side of the road on the grass.  Then jerking open the bag he had carried, he took out a few towels, and three soft shirts.  Hastily rolling them together for a pillow, he added it to the bed pro tem.  Then he turned again to Prudence.

“I’ll carry you over here, and fix you as comfortably as I can.  Then I’ll go to the nearest house and get a wagon to take you home.”

Prudence was not shy, and realizing that his plan was the wise one, she made no objections when he came to help her across the road.  “I think I can walk if you lift me up.”

But the first movement sent such a twinge of pain through the wounded ankle that she clutched him frantically, and burst into tears.  “It hurts,” she cried, “don’t touch me.”

Without speaking, he lifted her as gently as he could and carried her to the place he had prepared for her.  “Will you be warm enough?” he asked, after he had stood looking awkwardly down upon the sobbing girl as long as he could endure it.

“Yes,” nodded Prudence, gulping down the big soft rising in her throat.

“I’ll run.  Do you know which way is nearest to a house?  It’s been a long time since I passed one coming this way.”

“The way I came is the nearest, but it’s two miles, I think.”

“I’ll go as fast as I can, and you will be all right This confounded cross-cut is so out of the way that no one will pass here for hours, I suppose.  Now lie as comfortably as you can, and do not worry.  I’m going to run.”

Off he started, but Prudence, left alone, was suddenly frightened.  “Please, oh, please,” she called after him, and when he came back she buried her face in shame, deep in the linen towel.