It seemed an hour since she had seen the child lurch backward and fall--it had been seconds. She looked down. There stood Pete, blue under the tan of his skin. Bob and Ralph, one with hands upraised, the other crouched as if to dodge the sorrow, stood like statues, ashen gray. As Happie looked down, Bob moved, and turned away to hide the tears that streamed down his face. Pete gathered together the reins, shaking from head to foot. Ralph covered his face with his hands, and Happie heard him breathe: "Thank God!"
"She'll never be no nearer the aidge of eternity till she goes over it," remarked Pete. "Git ap, Jim! Come on, Lil!"
Polly lay hiding her face on Gretta's lap, who smoothed her hair silently, her own face grave and pale. Penny was crying with all her might, and Laura rocked her body to and fro, moaning hysterically: "Oh, those rocks! Those rocks!"
Happie looked down at the pile for which Polly had headed. It was hardly possible that she could have struck them, backward as she was falling, and not have broken her neck. A sickening realization of the sorrow so narrowly escaped, was followed by a swift rush of love and gratitude for the strong, quiet girl, whose quick brain and steady hand had saved Polly.
Happie turned to Gretta with her whole heart in her face.
"It was death," she whispered; she could not summon her voice. "I can never thank you."
Then the color rushed up over her blanched face in a wave of joy.
"I'm glad if I can pay some of my debt," she said.
The great wagon, so heavily laden with its towering hay and grateful hearts, rolled slowly down the road. Thanks to Gretta, it was still carrying only glad young folk on a hay ride. But how nearly it had been dear little Polly's funeral car!
"I wish you and Gretta had not forgotten my pup," said Miss Bradbury coming into the dining-room the morning after the departure of Margery. "I still hear queer noises at night. I'm going to send down to town for a good dog. Jake Shale has offered me a beagle, and Peter Kuntz assures me the one thing on earth I need is his old dog, half shepherd and seven-eighths cur, but I'm not convinced."
"What a very fractional dog, Miss Keren!" laughed Mrs. Scollard.
"Let me send down to mother to get a dog a friend of mine has, Miss Bradbury," suggested Ralph. "He's about two years old, and thoroughbred, a fine watchdog. They want to get him into the country, or they'd never give him up; he is out of place in New York, they think."