"Run for it. Run for the farm!" exclaimed both the men. I saw Colonel Fielding's slender hand dart out and catch that sunburnt paw of Elizabeth's as they dashed after the farmer's wife. Hand in hand they ran over the field like children, laughing like children too—and I knew this would be another of "THE" moments of life to my little chum.
I was legging it after them when I was stopped as if by a shot. From behind me there was a sharp cry.
"Joan! Joan!"
I turned to the corner under the elms where we had been picnicking. Every one had left it in their dash for cover before the rain came on. Only Captain Holiday was there; he stood, his back to the biggest elm, his hands spread out behind him on the trunk, his face ghastly white.
"Joan!" he called like a child.
I ran back to him.
"What's the matter?" I asked anxiously. "Has your knee let you down?"—I knew that one of his wounds had been in the knee—"Where are you hurt?"
"I'm not hurt," he said, and tried to smile. "Only I——"
Crashing thunder drowned his voice. Then I saw an odd thing happen. His whole body seemed to shrink and flatten itself against that tree. He caught his hands away from the bark and covered his face. He was in an agony.
I hurried to him. He clutched my arm.