“Have any of them broken loose? Did anybody tell you?” gasped Mrs. Leslie.
“No ma’am,” said Pep, “but I don’t see what else could have gone with him.”
“Run home, dear,” said Mrs. Leslie, “I’m sorry to send you away, but I must go look for Johnny. Take Polly to the nursery, Tiny, and I’ll send Ann up to you.”
And, only stopping to speak to the servant, Mrs. Leslie sped down the lane and into the wood, calling “Johnny! Johnny!”
It was a very small wood, and she soon satisfied herself that her boy was not there. She ran up the lane, intending to go to Mr. Leslie’s office, and see what he thought had better be done next, when the front gate opened, and the man who had shown Johnny to a seat, came in with the poor little boy in his arms.
Johnny was still insensible, and at the first glance, his mother thought that he was dead. Her face grew as white as his, and it was with great difficulty that she kept herself from falling.
“Don’t be scared, ma’am,” said the farmer, kindly, “the little feller’s only fainted, and his hurt ain’t but a trifle—the donkey’s hoof just grazed him kind of sideways. If it had struck him square, it would have finished him, but a miss is as good as a mile.”
While he was speaking, the farmer had laid Johnny on the bench in the porch, and now he went hastily to the pump, and brought a dipperful of water to Mrs. Leslie.