The young men fastened their horses under the shed, rolled up their sleeves, and "took hold." Happily, the doctor's house was close by, and they arrived seasonably at the door, with their companion still groaning and moaning piteously. No wonder! The doctor found his excuse. Mr. Kerchey had broken an arm, besides doing some extensive damage to his shoulder.
When informed of the true state of the case, the company were sobered at once; and Sarah, especially, was very much distressed.
"I was the cause of it all!" she exclaimed, with strong feelings of self-reproach.
"To make ample reparation," said Jane Dustan, "all you have to do is to take care of your victim during his recovery."
"And I'll do it, laugh as you may!" exclaimed Sarah.
She kept her word as far as practicable. Mr. Kerchey was carried home the next day; and every afternoon, during the long week he was confined to his room, she called to inquire about his health, and often stopped to make his broth with her own hands, or to read the newspaper for him.
Mr. Kerchey loved the broth only because she made it, and when she read he was entertained by the sweet tone of her voice alone. Of course, he forgave her for frightening the horse; and if ever there was a poor fellow in love with a kind-hearted, mischievous, merry girl, it was Mr. Kerchey, convalescent, in love with Sarah Royden.