“They never could drive in this rough place,” Dorothy sighed.  “Listen!  There is Joe.  Call him.  He will help us.”

In a moment Joe Dale was beside his sister.

“Why, a man must carry her, of course,” he declared promptly, “I just met Ralph Willoby—­”

A shrill whistle from Joe, followed by his calling loudly the young man’s name, soon brought Ralph to the scene.

“Oh, I am so glad it is you!” said Dorothy.  “You will know just what to do, and we—­don’t want—­a crowd.”

By this time Sarah showed signs of fainting; her breath came in gasps and her face was very white.

“Run over to the spring Joe, and fetch a cup of water,” Ralph commanded.  “Now, Miss Ford, you must put your head down flat on the grass—­this way.  There, that’s it.  Now try to straighten out so that you can breathe better.”

But every move that the suffering girl tried to make caused her such pain that Dorothy fell upon her knees and tried to fan a breath into her white face, to prevent her, if possible, from becoming unconscious.

“Here’s Joe, with the water,” exclaimed Tavia, running to meet the boy, and hurrying back with the cool liquid.

Ralph pressed the drink to Sarah’s lips, while Dorothy waited to bathe the pale face with what water might remain in the cup.

“Oh!” sighed Sarah.  “I feel—­better.  I thought I was going to die.”

“You were faint,” Ralph exclaimed.  “Do you think you can sit up now?”

Not waiting for a reply, the young man slipped his hand under the girl’s shoulders, and the next minute he had her in his arms.

It was a sad little procession that followed him.  Dorothy almost in tears; Tavia with eyes already overflowing, while Joe kept very close to Ralph, ready to offer any assistance in carrying Sarah to her home.

But Ralph was well able to manage his burden, for the girl was not heavy, and she helped herself some by keeping her arms clasped about his neck.  Fortunately the Ford home was not far away.

“There’s Mr. Ford,” whispered Joe to Tavia, as they reached the gate, and at that moment the man on the porch raised his head from his paper, and saw them coming.

Mr. Ford seemed dazed—­he did not stir for a moment but sat there staring wildly at the group now coming up the path.

“Sarah has hurt her ankle,” Joe hurried to say, and as his voice roused the man from his frightened attitude, he sprang up and reached to take his daughter from the young man’s arms.

“I had better put her on a couch,” objected Ralph, “Her ankle seems quite painful.”

“What has happened?” asked the father opening the door of the sitting room and making ready the couch under the window.

“The girls did it,” gasped Sarah, “that girl there, Tavia Travers!”

“You!” exclaimed the man, making a threatening move towards the accused girl.

“It was an accident,” interposed Dorothy, “we do not know how it happened; we found her under a tree in the orchard.”