But the Boy and his father had to face the problem of getting them all back to the Valley Farm.
“How can we make a litter?” asked the Boy, who was not so skilled in wood-craft as the Farmer.
“First, find two good long poles,” his father directed. “I wish we’d brought an axe, but perhaps you can manage with your jack-knife.” And under his direction the Boy found what he needed. Next they peeled the bark from a chestnut tree, and on this they arranged a mattress of dried moss, then tied it firmly between the two long poles. Stretching this flat on the ground, they laid Fleet Foot on it and carried her home in state, one of them shouldering either end of the litter.
“She ought to ride easy on that,” said the backwoodsman. But the doe shrank back in fear when the Boy tried laying his hand caressingly on her velvet throat. For every moment she expected they would kill her.
The fawns followed Clover Blossom, and finally they came out into the star-lit meadow, where Fleet Foot caught the odor of cows and sheep from the big red barn. The next thing she knew, she was lying on a mound of sweet-smelling dried clover, in a clean stall of that same barn, and there was a pail of water beside her. She roused herself to drink feverishly, standing on three legs, but she could not eat. Then followed a few hours when she slept despite her fears, because she was too tired to keep awake.
In the pink dawn she awoke at the sound of the milk-pails, and her first thought was of the fawns. The Boy brought her a hatful of grass; but her great eyes only searched wistfully through the woodland and meadow before the open door, and on to the dew-wet forest where she thought they waited, and she struggled weakly to get to her feet and go to them.
“She’s worrying about her babies,” said the Boy. “Can’t we show them to her?” he begged his father.
“The only trouble with that,” the farmer replied, “is that, once they get a sight of her, they won’t have anything more to do with Clover Blossom, and she’s got to take care of them till their own mother is well again. But that leg will heal quickly. The bone was broken in only one place. We’ve got to keep her quiet, though,—and the fawns are better off where they are.”
Thus several weeks went by, till at last Fleet Foot was able to trip daintily into the pasture lot. But still she worried about the fawns. She was comfortable and well fed, and was even becoming used to the Boy, who brought her food and water every morning and sometimes a few grains of rock salt. Through the bars of the open doorway she could gaze straight into the cool green woods all day. Had it not been for her longing for the fawns, she would have been quite content to lie still and get well.
The bone had set quickly, for her life in the open had given her pure blood and much reserve strength. But she was anxious to make her escape and search for her babies. Little did she dream, in the confusion of sounds and smells that filled the barn every day, that the pair actually came to Clover Blossom’s stall.