“I will saddle for you if you can bring the old horse up,” he said, and Bertha hurried off to catch Pucker, which was fairly easy, as the old horse was rather of a nuisance than otherwise, for it was in the habit of hanging about the house to get little scraps of food and dainties of sorts not usually appreciated by horses.
In about five minutes Bertha was back again, leading Pucker by the forelock, while Tom had fetched his old saddle from the barn and was tying it up with string.
“Will you be able to milk at six o’clock?” asked Bertha. “I can do it before I go, if you like, only it will hinder, and we ought to get the doctor here as soon as possible.”
“I can do it, and give the children their breakfast too. What are they to have?” he asked, as he slipped the saddle on to the quiet old horse and fastened the girths.
“Oh, give them as much milk as they like, and there is some bread in the pan; they will not hurt until I come home. But, Tom, can you tell me how it happened?” she asked, in a hesitating tone, with a nod of her head in the direction of the silent figure which was lying on the couch in the kitchen. “I hate to worry you; only, the doctor will want to know.”
“Of course he will; but I thought I had told you,” he said, as he helped her on to the back of Pucker. “Her horse put its foot into a hole and fell, shooting her over its head. When I picked her up I thought she had a broken neck, and that is what I am afraid of still.”
“Oh, but that could not be!” she exclaimed, with a quick instinct to comfort. “For remember, she is alive.”
“Only just; but while there is life there is hope. God bless you, Bertha, for all the help and comfort you have been to me to-night,” he said brokenly, and then, as she rode away, he called out: “Tell the doctor that it happened between eight and nine o’clock last night, and I was all that time getting her home.”
Bertha gasped. No wonder that he had seemed so fearfully exhausted, if he had been toiling along with such a burden for so many hours!
Pucker had done no work for three days beyond carrying Dicky and Molly round and round the paddock whenever it pleased them to take a ride, so the old horse was able and willing to go. It was not the thirty miles to Rownton that Bertha had to ride. There was, fortunately for her, a doctor living at Pentland Broads, fifteen miles away, where they went to church on Sundays, and where was the nearest store and post office.