Benny turned to look at her when he saw something which made him drop his churn handle and run swiftly. A buggy was coming up the lane, the horse rushing on furiously. It was evident that the girl who was driving had lost control of her horse. It was Molly Welch who held the reins, and her horse was running away. In another instant the horse would reach the gate. Not only was Molly in danger, but little Alice was directly in the road. Benny rushed forward with one thought uppermost—if he could only reach the gate and shut it. It was a race between him and the runaway horse. He darted off, reached Alice, flung her aside, and made a last desperate rush for the gate.
CHAPTER VII
HIS FATHER’S PLAN
Just as Benny closed the gate with a slam the runaway horse reached it and stopped short, trembling in every limb. The girl in the buggy was as pale as a ghost. Two or three men came running up, and Benny suddenly found himself a hero. He had fallen to the ground as the gate swung to, and had struck his head so that his temple was bleeding slightly. Little Alice was crying that Benny had knocked her down, and Mrs. Bentley came running from the house.
She had seen the accident from the kitchen window, and without losing her hold on her little girl, whom she tenderly picked up, she clasped Benny in her arms as he staggered to his feet.
“Oh, you dear, brave little boy!” she cried. “You have saved my baby, and you might have been killed yourself! Oh, how thankful I am; how very thankful! And oh, it is Molly Welch! You have saved Molly, too! Such a little boy, and so brave!”
By this time Molly was out of the buggy, and the men had quieted down the trembling horse. “It was the slickest trick I ever saw,” said one of the men. “One of those women among the pickers left a baby carriage out in the road, and it scared the horse nearly to death. We saw he was getting skittish when he passed, and we ran, but ’twarn’t no use. We couldn’t git there, and this here youngster just ups and runs to the gate. It was a pretty spunky thing to do, for he was just in the nick of time. Another minute and the horse would have trampled him.”
“Why, it’s our little Benny,” said Molly, with a quaver in her voice. “Why, Benny, don’t you know me?” for Benny was looking around in a dazed sort of a way.
“Oh, yes, I know you,” he said, “but I feel sort of queer.”
“Come in, Molly, and let me give you a cup of tea,” said Mrs. Bentley; “you look so white, and no wonder. And Benny, I must patch up your poor head,” and she put her arm around the boy with a real mother-look on her face.