Gently as could a woman, these farm hands lowered their burden to the soft bed of moss at their feet. Belle and Bess leaned over the quiet form, while Hope hurried to the stream below for some water, which she quickly brought in the strong cup improvised from her stiffened sunbonnet.
“This is spring water,” she said. “Swallow a few mouthsfull.”
Cora opened her lips and sipped from the strange cup. Then she turned and tried to rise, growing stronger each instant, and determined to “pull herself together.”
“Wasn’t it silly?” she asked, finally.
“Wasn’t it awful! Are you much hurt?” inquired Belle, fanning Cora with her motor hood.
“Not a bit—that I can tell,” she answered. “That natural—hammock—was a miracle.”
She attempted to rise, but fell back rather suddenly.
“I’ve got a twist somewhere,” she said. “I think my shoulder is sprained.”
Without waiting to be asked to do so Frank, the younger of the farm hands, put his arm about Cora’s waist, and brought her to her feet.
“Oh, thank you,” she stammered rather shyly. “I am sure you have helped me wonderfully. I don’t know how to thank you—all.”