en peeped into the parlor, but the musty, shut-up
smell of that dusky tomb was too much for her, and she sat down by the
sitting-room window, under the empty bird cage, to look up the road and
watch for the return of the sulky and its occupants.

Sitting there, she was a witness of the alarming catastrophe on the
hilltop, and reached the front gate just in time to see Henry go
galloping by, dragging the four wheels and springs of the sulky, while,
sprawled across the rear axle and still clinging to the reins, hung a
familiar, howling, and most wickedly profane individual by the name of
Bangs.

The runaway dashed on toward the blacksmith shop. Phoebe, bareheaded and
coatless, ran up the hill. Before she reached the crest, she was aware
of muffled screams, which sounded as if the screamer was shut up in a
trunk.

"O-o-oh!" screamed Mrs. Beasley. "O-o-oh! Ow! Let me out! Help! I'm
stuck! My back's broke! He-e-lp!"

The upper part of the sulky, with its boxlike curtained top, lay on
its side in the road. From somewhere within the box came the groans and
screams. The gale swept the hilltop, and, for a quarter mile to leeward,
the scenery was animated by soaring, fluttering copies of the Blazeton
Courier, that swooped and ducked like mammoth white butterflies.

The panting and alarmed teacher stooped and peered into the dark shadow
between the dashboard and the back curtain. All she could make out
at first were a pair of thin ankles and "Congress" shoes in agitated
motion. These bobbed up and down behind the overturned seat and its
displaced cushion.

"O Mrs. Beasley!" screamed Phoebe. "Are you hurt?"

Debby, of course, did not hear the question. She continued to groan
and scream for help. Her lungs were not injured, at all events. The
schoolmistress, dropping on her knees, reached into the sulky top and
tugged at the seat. It was rather tightly wedged, but she managed to
loosen it and pull it toward her.

The widow raised herself on an elbow and looked out between the flowers
of her smashed bonnet.

"Who is it?" she demanded. "Oh, is that you, Miss Dorcas? Oh, my soul
and body! Oh, my stars! Oh, my goodness me!"

"Are you hurt?" shrieked Phoebe.

"Hey? I don't know! I don't know WHAT I be! I don't know nothin'!"

"Can you help yourself? Can you get up?"

"Hey? I don't know. Maybe I can if you haul that everlastin' seat out of
the way. Oh, my sakes alive!"

Her rescuer pulled the seat forward, and, with an e