She scrambled out of her prison on hands and knees, and jumped to her feet with reassuring alacrity. Her fur-collared cape was draped in a roll about her neck, and her bonnet hung jauntily over her left eye.
“I'm a sight, ain't I?” she asked. “Haul this bunnet straight, quick's ever you can. Hurt? No, no! I ain't hurt none but my feelin's. Hurry UP! S'pose I want them men folks to see me with everything all hind side to?”
Miss Dawes, relieved to find that the accident had had no serious consequences, and trying her hardest not to laugh, assisted the widow to rearrange her wearing apparel. The blacksmith and his helper came running up the hill.
“Hello, Debby!” hailed the former. “What's the matter? Hurt, be you?”
Mrs. Beasley, whether she heard or not, did not deign to reply.
“Get my horn out of that carriage,” she ordered. “Don't stand there gapin'. Get it.”
The ear trumpet was resurrected from the interior of the vehicle. The widow adjusted it with dignity.
“Had a spill, didn't you, Debby?” inquired the blacksmith. “Upset, didn't you?”
Debby glared at him.
“No,” she replied with sarcasm. “Course I didn't upset! Just thought I'd roll round in the road for the fun of it. Smart question, that is! Where's that Bailey Bangs gone to with the rest of my carriage?”