Granny arose with the pie, cast a lingering and covetous glance at the fireplace, stooped and took another letter, and then started down the drive. Just as she reached the bridge she looked ahead and saw the Harvester coming up the levee. Instantly she shot the pie over the railing and with a groan watched it strike the water and disappear.
“Lord of love!” she gasped, sinking to the seat, “that was one of grandmother's willer plates that I promised Ruth. 'Tain't likely I'll ever see hide ner hair of it again. But they wa'ant no place to put it, and I dassent let him know I'd been up to the cabin. Mebby I can fetch a boy some day and hire him to dive for it. How long can a plate be in water and not get spiled anyway? Now what'll I do? My head's all in a whirl! I'll bet my bosom is a sticking out with his letters 'til he'll notice and take them from me.”
She gripped her hands across her chest and sat staring at the Harvester as he stopped on the bridge, and seeing her attitude and distressed face, he sprang from the wagon.
“Why Granny, are you sick?” he cried anxiously.
“Yes!” gasped Granny Moreland. “Yes, David, I am! I'm a miserable woman. I never was in sech a shape in all my days.”
“Let me help you to the cabin, and I'll see what I can do for you,” offered the Harvester.
“No. This is jest out of your reach,” said the old lady. “I want——I want to see Doctor Carey bad.”
“Are you strong enough to ride in or shall I bring him?”
“I can go! I can go as well as not, David, if you'll take me.”
“Let me run Betsy to the barn and get the Girl's phaeton. The wagon is too rough for you. Are the pains in your chest dreadful?”