"Wouldn't you rather go, and have me stay?"
"No, indeed; I could not leave Stanton. Only be as quick as you can, and tell them not to forget anything. Mother will think of everything, though, if you don't frighten her. Be sure and break the news gently."
So Tom went off, and Cassie fanned her brother while he slept. Then she opened her little book and read a page or two of Longfellow. The afternoon stretched on its weary length; the chirp of crickets and the hum of insects were all that broke the stillness. Stanton moaned in his sleep, and the flush of fever succeeded his first pallor.
The dusk came on, and stars began to twinkle. To Cassie's weary vision the woods became peopled with fantastic forms. She imagined she saw a snake glide stealthily past, and twist itself in and out the brake. A spider made her tremble. The hooting of an owl sent cold shivers down her spine; her limbs were cramped and stiff with sitting so long in one position; and when the men came with lanterns, blankets, brandy, and the village doctor, and carried Stanton to the nearest farm-house, Cassie was glad to throw herself in her mother's arms and have "a good cry."
"That girl's presence of mind saved her brother's life," Tom heard the doctor say next day; and then remembering his own speech of "girls being no good anyway," he began to think he had made a mistake. Stanton soon recovered. The cut, though dangerous, readily healed, and there were no bones broken.
Cassie did not have her surgical ability again tested, but the boys all avowed she was "plucky," and showed their appreciation by various gifts of caramels, popped corn, and green apples.
As for Stanton, he had always loved Cassie, and said she was a sister worth having.
AN AFTERNOON TEA.