The two found themselves unable to move the heavy tree, and so the one hurried back to the car for a shovel, and the other began to cut away more brush. For a time they looked around for something with which to pry, but they were not successful.
“You block it up, and I’ll begin diggin’,” said the man who had been with Ginkle. Ginkle now sat beside Grandfather, talking to him. Gently one of the men picked him up and put him in a safe place so that they could work, explaining to the little fellow what they were about to do. He himself hurried to find pieces of log which he could put under the tree for safety, while the other dug away with the shovel. They exchanged work, and so kept at it actively for some minutes.
“Say, friend, do you think you can stand some pulling?” asked one.
“Oh, I guess. Just try me,” answered Grandfather. Ginkle cried loudly again, but they were too busy to notice. In a few moments Grandfather sat against a tree, recovering from his terrible experience.
“Grannyfader tick? Grannyfader hurted?” Ginkle’s cheeks were still wet with tears as he spoke.
“Not so bad, I guess,” answered Grandfather, “not so bad as it looked, I hope.”
“Awkward place to turn, looks to me,” remarked the chauffeur as he set out thru the brush toward the road. Soon they heard the machine purring, and in a few moments he reappeared. Both men now took Grandfather by the arms, and with their help he was able to make his way with some groaning out to the car.
“Granny—Granny, she not home, maybe,” said Ginkle, climbing close to Grandfather in the rear seat.
“Oh—my back—feels like it’s broken,” groaned Grandfather, as he clung to the cushions. Soon the car started. The men drove very slowly and carefully on their way back to the house. From the machine they helped the injured man carefully on his way into the house, and had just placed him among pillows in a big, comfortable-looking rocker, when Ginkle ran suddenly for the door.
“Granny—here Granny coming,” he shouted.