Cassie did not care. She was not one of the pouting sort who shrug their shoulders and get huffy. She knew she was strong, and she hadn't time to waste on little humors and moods, and then she had so much to do. There was her collection of butterflies, her pressed flowers and ferns, her acorn work and her pine cones, frames to make for her sketches, and, besides all this, she was crocheting "Tam o' Shanters" for the boys.
Their path first led them through pasture-lands and stubble, over fences and stone walls. Then they plunged into the thicket, which was dense and brambly, and very rough every way. And now Stanton's axe became of use. "For you know we will want to get home again," he said, as he gave a vigorous cut here and there on each prominent tree, "and this is the way hunters always do."
As he spoke he struck what appeared to be a decayed trunk, when instantly out flew a swarm of angry bees. A ringing laugh from his companions was soon followed by an ominous silence, for all found themselves surrounded by the disturbed insects. Cassie, thinking discretion the better part of valor, hurried away with her dress over her head, but the boys had a hard fight to get off; as it was, both were stung, and had to apply mud poultices. This did not increase their good-nature, and the sun was now adding to their discomfort.
Cassie began a little song, but the way was so steep, and the rocks so precipitous and slippery with pine-needles and moss, that her notes died away for want of breath. She was getting very tired, when Stanton complained of hunger, and Tom espied a brook; so they all concluded to make a halt, and refresh themselves. After the rest and luncheon, with many a draught of the delicious spring water, on they again toiled; and now they seemed to have overcome the worst troubles of the way. The under-growth which had been so dense decreased; broad patches of huckleberry bushes offered their fruit; velvety mosses and nodding ferns made the way beautiful; and here and there through the trees came glimpses of the mountains stretching away in the blue distance. On the top of the crags which lay before them was an old leafless tree which had been scathed by lightning. Up this the boys proposed to climb, and fasten a little flag they had with them; so, hurrying on, they left Cassie to more slowly overtake them.
The spot was so pretty that Cassie lingered, picking a leaf here and there, and listening to the soft whisper of the breeze. Suddenly a crash as of a falling bough arrested her attention; then a cry of alarm, succeeded by as sudden a silence. Hurrying forward, she found Tom bending over Stanton, who was lying all in a heap at the foot of the tree.
"What is it—a fall? Is he dead?" she cried.
Tom turned his white face to her, utterly speechless.
"Get water—quick! But oh, look here!—he is bleeding!—he is cut!"
"Yes, he fell with the axe in his hand. The limb must have been rotten; it gave way," said Tom at last.
"But he will bleed to death, don't you see? What can we do?"