“That is a good one,” seconded another woman eagerly, “and brings to my mind a story of my boys, now grown men. In those days we lived on the farm, and my sons were just old enough to venture out into the fields alone. You know what a lark it is for boys to hunt? Well, my boys developed the instinct early. One day in spring George saw a squirrel flirt its saucy tail over in the woods, and off they were after it.
“I had not noticed their absence until I saw Charles, a toddler of four, come racing down the road and turn into the dooryard.
“‘George has broked his neck! Mama, mama, George has broked his neck, he has!’ he screamed.
“‘Tell me how,’ I demanded, my heart thumping wildly.
“‘He fell off a tree. He’s broked his neck. Come quick,’ the child gave answer.
“I needed no second bidding, but frantically started for the wood lot. Charles ran along by my side, and when we came to the fence I lifted him over first, and only then thought to ask:
“Charles, how do you know his neck is broken?
“‘Well,’ he explained, ‘you see, he climbed the tree after the squirrel, and he went out too far, and the old rotten limb it just snapped and George fell and he is hurted, and he said to run and tell you to come quick. I started and then he called and said:
“‘Charles, better say my neck is broked right off. I guess then she’ll hurry, sure!’”