He had an indistinct recollection of hearing the name before. Perhaps it was in connection with a new family that had come to live on the outskirts of the town; but just then in his confusion of ideas he could not for the life of him tell whether it had been on the other side along the river road, or to the west.
“Where does your father work?” he asked, on a hazard.
“For Mr. Gregg,” came the immediate answer.
“At the mill, the flour mill?” asked the boy, quickly.
A nod of the little auburn-crowned head answered him. Then Ralph knew what his duty was. He remembered that the mill was only a quarter of a mile away from the spot where they were at that moment. Perhaps the child’s home might be even closer, but he could not take the chances of hunting for it.
“I’m going to carry you to your father, Mary. You’re not afraid of me, are you?” he asked, bending down again; for some one ought to get her to a doctor without much delay, so that it might be discovered whether any bones had been broken by the cruel fall of that heavy stone.
“Me? Oh! no,” she said, instantly, which pleased Ralph more than he cared to say, for it told him his manner had inspired confidence in the little maid.
So he gathered the wee mite of humanity up in his arms, and having decided upon which direction he should take, strode off.
“But—my dinner pail! Daddy won’t like me to lose it!” wailed the child, after they had gone fifty paces.
Nothing would do but that Ralph must return in order that she might clutch it in her one well hand. Then again he made a start. It was provoking that an accident like this should delay him just when minutes were of so much value. But Ralph could not have had the heart to leave that innocent child crying there alone in those dense woods even though a dozen ball games depended on his showing up at a certain time.