"Is it far from here?" asked Louisa. "If, as you say, the vultures don't eat their prey until evening, perhaps it may still be living."
"Oh, if you would but fetch it!" asked Bertha.
"My dear young lady," said the American, "the poor thing cannot be very well transported here, unless it were fed first where it lies. I took it up and stroked it; but it was so weak that it was hardly able to move. Men's hands are but rough instruments for handling such a weakly creature."
"You said that it was but a few hundred yards from this?" asked Bertha, once more.
"It is not a rifle-shot off," said the stranger.
"Oh, mother!" begged Louisa.
"Go, children—go," said Mrs. Hehrmann, quickly; "go and try to get the dear little thing home alive; your father will be particularly pleased; he has long wished for some such tame thing."
"Oh, that is capital," exclaimed Louisa, jumping up for her bonnet and shawl; "but we must take some milk with us to strengthen our little charge."
"Alas! if the buzzards should have got it," whispered Bertha, sadly, "I should be so sorry!"