“This is too bad, Uncle Hiram!” he said, in a trembling voice. “I'll get you out just as soon as I can.”
“Be—be careful, Joe—I—I—my ribs must be broken,” gasped the hermit.
“I'll be careful,” answered the boy, and began to pull aside one board after another. Then he tugged away at the beam but could not budge it.
“Raise it up Joe—it—is—crushing the life ou—out of me,” said the hermit faintly.
“I'll pry it up,” answered the boy, and ran off to get a block of wood. Then he procured a stout pole and with this raised the heavy beam several inches.
“Can you crawl out, Uncle Hiram?”
There was no answer, and Joe saw that the man had fainted from exhaustion. Fixing the pole so it could not slip, he caught hold of the hermit and dragged him to a place of safety.
Joe had never had to care for a hurt person before and he scarcely knew how to proceed. He laid the hermit on the grass and washed his face with water. Soon Hiram Bodley opened his eyes once more.
“My chest!” he groaned. “All of my ribs must be broken! And my ankle is broken, too!” And he groaned again.
“I had better get a doctor, Uncle Hiram.”