That early morning he had already done a good two hours’ work in connection with broad beans, of which he grew, perhaps, the best in the whole county, and had knocked off for a moment, to examine a spider’s web.  This marvellous creation, which the dew had visited and clustered over, as stars over the firmament, was hung on the gate of the vegetable garden, and the spider, a large and active one, was regarding Tod with the misgiving natural to its species.  Intensely still Tod stood, absorbed in contemplation of that bright and dusty miracle.  Then, taking up his hoe again, he went back to the weeds that threatened his broad beans.  Now and again he stopped to listen, or to look at the sky, as is the way of husbandmen, thinking of nothing, enjoying the peace of his muscles.

“Please, sir, father’s got into a fit again.”

Two little girls were standing in the lane below.  The elder, who had spoken in that small, anxious voice, had a pale little face with pointed chin; her hair, the color of over-ripe corn, hung fluffy on her thin shoulders, her flower-like eyes, with something motherly in them already, were the same hue as her pale-blue, almost clean, overall.  She had her smaller, chubbier sister by the hand, and, having delivered her message, stood still, gazing up at Tod, as one might at God.  Tod dropped his hoe.

“Biddy come with me; Susie go and tell Mrs. Freeland, or Miss Sheila.”

He took the frail little hand of the elder Tryst and ran.  They ran at the child’s pace, the one so very massive, the other such a whiff of flesh and blood.

“Did you come at once, Biddy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where was he taken?”

“In the kitchen—­just as I was cookin’ breakfast.”

“Ah!  Is it a bad one?”

“Yes, sir, awful bad—­he’s all foamy.”

“What did you do for it?”

“Susie and me turned him over, and Billy’s seein’ he don’t get his tongue down his throat—­like what you told us, and we ran to you.  Susie was frightened, he hollered so.”

Past the three cottages, whence a woman at a window stared in amaze to see that queer couple running, past the pond where the ducks, whiter than ever in the brightening sunlight, dived and circled carelessly, into the Tryst kitchen.  There on the brick floor lay the distressful man, already struggling back out of epilepsy, while his little frightened son sat manfully beside him.

“Towels, and hot water, Biddy!”

With extraordinary calm rapidity the small creature brought what might have been two towels, a basin, and the kettle; and in silence she and Tod steeped his forehead.

“Eyes look better, Biddy?”

“He don’t look so funny now, sir.”

Picking up that form, almost as big as his own, Tod carried it up impossibly narrow stairs and laid it on a dishevelled bed.

“Phew!  Open the window, Biddy.”

The small creature opened what there was of window.