Presently she said, “I’m tired, Elyot, truly I am,” and tumbled down, a sleepy little heap, in a thicket of blackberry-bushes.
“Oh, you mustn’t!” cried Elyot, pulling her arm; “wake up, Barby. Mamsie wouldn’t like you to go to sleep here by the road.” But Barby only hummed once, “I’m so tired, truly I am;” and tucking her hand under her chin, she fell fast asleep.
Elyot looked up and down the road. There was nobody in sight. It was too far to carry her, that he knew from his recollection of the distance as he had been taken there in the carriage. Nevertheless, he got her somehow up in his arms, and staggered off a few steps; but she slipped out, and rolled up more of a heap than ever on the ground.
At last he ran out into the middle of the road, and watched for some one to come by; and as no one appeared, he gathered up his small soul with the best courage he could muster, and sat down on a big stone by the side of the road.
“Some one has got to come by pretty soon,” he said.
How long he waited no one knew. It seemed to him hours, when, “Gee-lang—there, sho, now,” struck upon his ears, and an old farmer came around a bend in the road with a wagon-load of grain.
Elyot got off his stone, and dashed over to him on unsteady little legs. “Oh, say, Mr. Man! please would you take us, my sister and me, please?”
“Sho,” cried the farmer, pulling up his old gray horse, “sho there—why, who be ye?” staring at him.
Elyot gathered up his small soul with the best courage he could muster, and sat down on a big stone by the side of the road.