King was made comfortable along the floor of the waggonette, upon some rugs and blankets lent by the Crown; and so was taken home. When Captain Sanker found what had happened, he grew excited, and went knocking at half the doctors’ doors in Worcester. Mr. Woodward was the first in, then Dr. Malden and Mr. Carden came running together. By what the captain had said, they expected to find all the house dead.
King seemed better in the morning. The injury lay chiefly in his head. We did not hear what the doctors made of it. He was sensible, and talked a little. When asked how he came to fall, all he said was that he “went over and could not save himself.”
Coming in, from carrying the news of how he was to the Squire and Mrs. Todhetley at the Star, I found Mark Ferrar at the door.
“Mr. Johnny,” said he, in a low voice, his plain face all concern, “how did it happen? Sure he was not pushed over?”
“Of course not. Why do you ask it?”
Ferrar paused. “Master Johnny, when boys are lame they are more cautious. He’d hardly be likely to slip.”
“He might in walking. It’s only a narrow ledge there. And his sister says she thinks he went to sleep when she left him. She was the last who saw him.”
Mark’s wide mouth went into all sorts of contortions, and the freckles shone in the sun in his effort to get the next words out.
“I fancy it was me that saw him last, Master Johnny. Leastways, later than his sister.”
“Did you? How was that?”