ard as she could go, to find her father, tell him all, and
appeal to him to try and save the poor fellow from the cruel trials he
was called upon to bear.

Celia could hardly see the direction in which she was going, for her
eyes were blinded with tears, and so it was that, when down in the
lowest part of the hollow, as she hurried blindly along, she tripped
over one of the many loose stones, fell heavily, striking her temple
against a block projecting from the steep side of the little valley; and
fell, to lie insensible for a time; and when she did come to her senses,
it was to find Grip lying by her, with his head upon her chest, and his
eyes looking inquiringly into hers, as if to ask what it all meant.

Her head ached, and she felt half stunned still, but she strove to rise
to her feet, and sank back with a moan of pain.

For a worse trouble had discovered itself: her ankle was badly wrenched,
so that she could not stand, and in the solitary place in which she had
fallen, it was possible that she might lie for days and not be found,
unless special search was made.

A sudden thought came--to tie her handkerchief about Grip's neck, and
send him home.

The first was easily done, the latter impossible. Grip was an
intelligent dog in his way, but nothing would make him leave his
mistress there; and the poor girl lay all day in the hot sun, and at
last saw that night was coming on, and that there was no help.

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

Celia Graeme took sundry precautions to avoid being seen, but she was
not so successful as she imagined.

Jemmy Dadd was an old servant of Farmer Shackle, one who always made a
point of doing as little as was possible about the farm. He did not
mind loading a cart, if he were allowed as much time as he liked, or
feeding the pigs, because it afforded him an opportunity to lean over
the sty and watch the pretty creatures eat, while their grunting and
squeaking was sweet music in his ear. He generally fed the horses, too,
and watched them graze. Calling up the cows from the cliff pastures he
did not mind, because cows walked slowly; and he did the milking because
he could sit down and rest his head; but to thump a churn and make
butter was out of his line.

Mrs Shackle complained bitterly to her lord and master about different
lots of cream being spoiled, but Farmer Shackle snubbed her.

"Can't expect a man to work night and day too," he grunted. "Set one of
the women to churn.