his head, and made him feel sick and giddy. All the trees were on the wrong side of the road, and he looked in vain for a shady spot along the dusty highway. Still on he tramped, with fast failing strength. A little way before him he saw a farmhouse, with trees growing around it. "If I can only reach that," he thought, "I'll rest awhile." Nearer and nearer, but how strangely everything was swimming around him, and what a curious mist was gathering before his eyes !
Ah, there is the sound of voices; a group of haymakers just inside the gate getting their dinner in the shadow of a tree. Was help at hand? He did not know. Gathering up all his strength, he staggered towards them, stretched out his hand blindly, for the mist had deepened before his eyes, then lifted his hands to his temples, as if struck with sudden pain, reeled, and fell senseless to the ground.
In a moment a woman raised him from the ground, and supported his head against her knee, while the men crowded round with wondering faces. Then Farmer Fisher came up with the question, "What's to do?" and the haymakers stood aside, that he might see for himself.
"The boy's dead" said the farmer, with just a little shake in his voice.
"No," said the woman, "he's not dead, his heart beats still."
"Go and call the missus, then, quick."
Then one of the men started for the farmhouse.
Mrs. Fisher was a gentle, kind-hearted woman at all
