“No,” it panted.  “No, I—­I think I’m not hurt.  But Aunt Thankful—­Oh, Auntie, are you—­”

Aunt Thankful herself interrupted.  Her voice was vigorous enough, but it sounded as if smothered beneath a heavy weight.

“No, no,” she gasped.  “I—­I’m all right.  I’m all right.  Or I guess I shall be when you get—­off of me.”

“Judas priest!” cried Winnie S., and sprang to the scene.  It was the younger woman, Emily, whom he rescued first.  She, being on the upper side of the tilted wagon, had slid pell-mell along the seat down upon the body of her companion.  Mrs. Barnes was beneath and getting her out was a harder task.  However, it was accomplished at last.

“Mercy on us!” exclaimed the lady, as her companions assisted her to rise.  “Mercy on us!  I feel like a pancake.  I never knew you weighed so much, Emily Howes.  Well, that’s all right and no bones broke.  Where are we now?  Why—­why, that’s a house, I do believe!  We’re in somebody’s yard.”

They were, that was plain even on a night as dark as this.  Behind them, bordering the stretch of mud and puddles which they had just left, was the silhouette of a dilapidated picket fence; and in front loomed the shadowy shapes of buildings.

“We’re in somebody’s yard,” repeated Thankful.  “And there’s a house, as sure as I live!  Well, I never thought I’d be so grateful just at the bare sight of one.  I’d begun to think I never would see a house again.  If we’d run afoul of a ship I shouldn’t have been so surprised.  Come on, Emily!”

She seized her companion by the hand and led the way toward the nearest and largest building.  Winnie S., having retrieved and relighted the overturned lantern, was inspecting the wreck of the depot-wagon.  It was some minutes before he noticed that his passengers had disappeared.  Then he set up a shout.

“Hi!  Where you be?” he shouted.

“Here,” was the answer.  “Here, by the front door.”

“Hey?  Oh, all right.  Stay where you be.  I’ll be there pretty soon.”

The “pretty soon” was not very soon.  Mrs. Barnes began to lose patience.

“I ain’t goin’ to roost on this step till mornin’,” she declared.  “I’m goin’ inside.  Ain’t that a bell handle on your side of the door, Emily?  Give it a pull, for mercy sakes!”

“But, Auntie—­”

“Give it a pull, I tell you!  I don’t know who lives here and I don’t care.  If ’twas the President of the United States he’d have to turn out and let us in this night.  Here, let me do it!”

She gave the glass knob a sharp jerk.  From within sounded the jingle of an old-fashioned spring bell.

“There!” she exclaimed, “I guess they’ll hear that.  Anyway, I’ll give ’em one more for good measure.”

She jerked the bell again.  The peal died away in a series of lessening tinkles, but there was no other sound from within.

“They must be sound sleepers,” whispered Emily, after a moment.