as well as
himself.

Price, who was a thoroughly good horseman, was knocked off, but got on
to the bank as Bottomley had done. The two animals were both in the
brook, and when the farmer was able to look round, he saw that the lady
was out of sight. He was in the water immediately himself, but before
he made the plunge he had resolved that he never again would give a
lady a lead till he knew whether she could ride.

Mr. Knox and Dick were soon on the spot, and Mrs. Houghton was
extracted. "I'm blessed if she ain't dead," said the whip, pale as
death himself. "H--sh!" said Mr. Knox; "she's not dead, but I'm afraid
she's hurt." Price had come back through the water with the woman in
his arms, and the two horses were still floundering about, unattended.
"It's her shoulder, Mr. Knox," said Price. "The horse has jammed her
against the bank under water." During this time her head was drooping,
and her eyes were closed, and she was apparently senseless. "Do you
look to the horses, Dick. There ain't no reason why they should get
their death of cold." By this time there were a dozen men round them,
and Dick and others were able to attend to the ill-used nags. "Yes;
it's her shoulder," continued Price. "That's out, any way. What the
mischief will Mr. Houghton say to me when he comes up!"

There is always a doctor in the field,--sent there by some benignity of
providence,--who always rides forward enough to be near to accidents,
but never so forward as to be in front of them. It has been hinted that
this arrangement is professional rather than providential; but the
present writer, having given his mind to the investigation of the
matter, is inclined to think that it arises from the general fitness of
things. All public institutions have, or ought to have, their doctor,
but in no institution is the doctor so invariably at hand, just when he
is wanted, as in the hunting field. A very skilful young surgeon from
Brotherton was on the spot almost as soon as the lady was out of the
water, and declared that she had dislocated her shoulder.

What was to be done? Her hat had gone; she had been under the water;
she was covered with mud; she was still senseless, and of course she
could neither ride nor walk. There were ever so many suggestions. Price
thought that she had better be taken back to Cross Hall, which was
about a mile and a half distant. Mr. Knox, who knew the country, told
them of a side gate in the Manor Cross wall, which m