“Do anything,” brusquely; “but don't come near.”
Jewel ran to the back of the barn, dropped on the floor, and buried her face in her hands.
Five minutes passed, ten, fifteen. Zeke rode up to the barn door, white and wild-eyed in the twilight.
“Dr. Busby was away!” he gasped. “They tried to get him on the telephone, and at last did. He'll be here in a few minutes.”
“The Maid's better,” said Mr. Evringham, wiping his forehead. “There hasn't been a repetition of the attack.” Mrs. Forbes stood by, fanning herself with her apron. The mare was standing quietly.
“Great Scott, but I'm glad!” replied Zeke devoutly. “I've seen 'em keel up with that. You can go through me with a fine tooth comb, Mr. Evringham, and you won't find a thing I've neglected for that mare.” Excitement had placed the young fellow beyond his awe for the master.
“I believe you, boy,” returned the broker. In his relief he would have believed anything.
“See the poor kid,” said Zeke, catching sight of the little figure sitting out of earshot, where the twilight touched her.
Mr. Evringham wheeled and strode back to the child. Her face was still hidden.
“Don't cry, Jewel,” he said kindly, his voice unsteady. “She's better.”