It was a lantern, and Hiram knew that it was being whirled around and around somebody's head. He thought he heard, too, a shouting through the falling snow.
“Something's wrong over yonder,” thought the young farmer.
He hesitated but for a moment. He had never stepped upon the Dickerson place, nor spoken to Sam Dickerson since the trouble about the turkeys. The lantern continued to swing. Eagerly as the snow came down, it could not blind Hiram to the waving light.
“I've got to see about this,” he muttered, and started as fast as he could go through the drifts, across the fields.
Soon he heard the voice shouting. It was Sam Dickerson. And he evidently had been shouting to Hiram, seeing his lantern in the distance.
“Help, Strong! Help!” he called.
“What is it, man?” demanded Hiram, climbing the last pair of bars and struggling through the drifts in the dooryard.
“Will you take my horse and go for the doctor? I don't know where Pete is—down to Cale Schell's, I expect.”
“What's the matter, Mr. Dickerson?”
“Sarah's fell down the bark stairs—fell backward. Struck her head an' ain't spoke since. Will you go, Mr. Strong?”