“I don’t know! I’m in hopes there ain’t no bones broke; it’s a marcy there ain’t. If I’d gone backwards, it would sartainly have killed me.”
“Your face is bleeding,” said Joe, wiping it with his handkerchief.
“Yes; I’m terribly shook all over, and I feel kind o’ faint.”
The old man was bruised on his forehead, and his lip was cut by the edge of the bowl; but though much frightened, he was not seriously injured.
Joe took him in his arms, and carried him into the house, secretly resolving that this should be the last thing of the kind he would ever be guilty of.
Depositing the old man on the bed, he went to the barn and tore the shoes off the ram’s feet, but, in his haste to get back, dropped one on the floor of the tie-up.
“I thought I was safe on that spot of ice, Joseph. He never followed me there before. I didn’t think he could stand on the ice.”
“You see he couldn’t very well,” replied Joe, who was in agony lest his agency in the matter should get wind; “for you see he went end over end.”
“We ought to be thankful,” said Mrs. Smullen, “it’s no worse. There was old Mrs. Aspinwall broke her hip only by treading on a pea, and falling down on her own floor. What we’re going to do about wood and the cattle I’m sure I don’t know! I’m so lame, I couldn’t milk to save my life.”
“Don’t worry the least mite about the cattle, Mrs. Smullen. I’ll take care of them, and cut you up a lot of wood.”