"Pretty stiff," he said. "I'm—I'm sorry, mother." She saw his lips tighten, and he clutched at her fingers desperately. "My aunt!" he gasped presently; and then she heard a whisper, as if to himself—"Buck up, School!"
She bent over him, murmuring broken words of love and pity. It was almost more than she could bear to see the motionless struggle. He lay, unable to stir; and agony gripped him until his hair lay dark on his wet forehead, and great drops of sweat ran down his grey face. And no cry came. He clung to her hand as if it were the one thing left him in the world, and his lips moved in the school call that surely went straight to God as a prayer for courage and endurance—"Buck up, School!"
She slipped her hand away presently.
"Just a second, Dick—I want to send a message."
She pressed the bell until she heard someone running to answer it, and then sprang to the door.
"The doctor, quick! Find him—he's in the paddock."
Dick's eyes were looking for her desperately as she ran back to him. He clutched at her hand.
"I thought you'd gone," he gasped, "Don't let me go, mother—mother!"
"I won't, my darling," she said. "Hold tight to me. Oh, Dick, cry out—it may help you."
She saw his head move in the ghost of what had been his old, decided shake.