The shop was, indeed, the nearest place where help could be obtained, and they started, all following; a sad and terrified party that but an hour before had been so gay and happy. And presently Jim's nerve returned to him, for it had been worsted for the moment by the cries and assertions of the others that he was doomed to death.
But where was Dorothy—who should have been foremost with sympathy and cheer? Halfway down the mountain before the company had all left that unlucky south meadow. Fully down by the time the smithy was reached. Race, Portia, race. A life hangs on your fleetness! Jim's life, Jim's! Who has proved that "greater love hath no man but that he lay down his life for his friend." And this was more than "friend"—it was the boy "he didn't like"—yet by the strange rule of nature, was forever after to be the Damon to his Pythias. Experience has long proved that the surest way to overcome an aversion to a person is to do that person a kindness.
Where, too, was Peter, the simple? Not far behind his faithful friend, the smith, having lingered only long enough to dart into the woods and fill his hands with a certain herb he knew; then to follow and reach the smithy just in time to hear its owner say:
"Faint, Jim? Drink this. Herbert, bare his arm. It will be heroic treatment, my lad, but, my hero—bear it! and live to teach the world a lesson."
Some turned their eyes aside as the smith drew from the glowing forge a white-hot iron and held it to the wound upon Jim's sunburned flesh. Not Jim! this wise old man toward whom his young soul had yearned from the beginning had called him "hero": and within himself he knew that he was far more such now than when he had rescued Dorothy from bondage, though they had termed him "hero" even then.
The wound cauterized, came Peter Piper with his healing leaves, bringing infinite relief; and soon as might be came also Dorothy upon her piebald mare, and the doctor close beside her on his own fleet steed; approving all that had been done, assuring everybody that no fatal results could follow such prompt treatment; and especially commending Peter Piper for his knowledge of those simples which mother Nature grows so luxuriantly for the use of all her children.
Thus ended the picnic and the search for hidden gold. But so soon as most of the company had departed from the over-crowded shop, Jim was made to ride upon Portia home to Skyrie, though he was now able to smile and declare that his legs were so long they would drag upon the ground.
However, he managed to hold them sufficiently high and to adapt himself to the despised saddle of a girl. With him went the few who knew him best; Seth Winters and Herbert, Mrs. Cecil and Martha, Helena herself—not to be outdone in gratitude for her brother's life; and John Chester with his "little maid" beside him. They had all anticipated finding a restful quiet at Skyrie; but they failed. The moving events of that memorable day were not all accomplished yet.
On the little upper porch sat Mr. and Mrs. Montaigne, waiting the return of Skyrie's owners to lay before them the scheme first evolved by their son and heir, and now indorsed with all heartiness by themselves. Chatting familiarly alongside, was Friend Oliver Sands; never more benignant nor complacent than now, and never more persistently engaged in "squeezing his hands" than at that hour.
Below, on the stone doorsteps, sat the two surveyors who had once before visited the cottage; and at sight of these the hearts of the elder Chester's sank, while Seth merrily whispered to Dorothy: