"There must be a million," said the suffering Sarah.
But it was cold comfort, counting the wounds, and she longed for sympathy. Glancing through her leafy screen she saw Richard skirting the orchard fence on his way to the barn. She turned to scramble down and in the descent struck her elbow on the bark, the poor elbow already tender from a vicious sting. Sarah cried out in pain, let go hastily and tumbled to the ground.
Richard had heard her cry and he came running to pick her up.
"Good grief, you are a wreck!" he ejaculated when he saw her. "There, there, Sarah! You haven't broken any bones—I'll brush you off and you'll be as good as new. Don't cry like that—please don't!"
CHAPTER XI
ALL SERENE AGAIN
"I think," said Richard, judiciously, "I'll carry you up to the barn and wash you off; your mother might think you were permanently disfigured if she saw you now."
Sarah was truly a forlorn-looking object, but he tucked her under his arm and set off for the barn, trying in vain to soothe her as they went. Sarah wept continuously and only stopped when she was put down on the barn floor. She stopped then because someone was making more noise than she could possibly make.
"I don't want to hear another word," Mr. Hildreth was saying in a cold, loud voice. "Not another word. You left those grain bins open and the least you can do is to admit it like a man."