‘Call one of the maids. Bid her ring,’ ordered the elder.
Eve, holding the sides of the door to prevent herself from falling, deadly white, with knees that yielded under her, staggered into the house.
Presently the old bell hung in a pent-house over the roof of the chapel began to give tongue.
Barbara, kneeling behind her father, raised his head on her bosom, and held her kerchief to his side. The first token of returning consciousness was given by his hands, which clutched at some grass he had cut. Then he opened his eyes.
‘Why is the bell tolling?’
‘Dear papa! it is calling for help. Yon must be moved. You are badly hurt.’
‘I feel it. In my side. How was it? I do not remember. Ah! the scythe. Has the blade cut deep?’
‘I cannot tell, papa, till the doctor comes. Are you easier now?’
‘You did it. Interfering with me when I was mowing. Teasing me. You will not leave me alone. You are always watching me. You wanted to take the scythe from me. If you had left me alone this would not have happened.’
‘Never mind, darling papa, how it happened. Now we must do our best to cure you.’