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Daniel walked more and more unsteadily. Once he might have fallen had not the child thrown one little arm around a bending knee. “You ‘most tumbled down. Uncle Dan’l,” said she. Her little voice had a surprised and frightened note in it.

“Don’t you be scared,” gasped Daniel; “we have got ‘most to the brook; then we’ll be all right. Don’t you be scared, and — you walk real slow and not get overhet.”

The brook was near, and it was time. Daniel staggered under the trees beside which the little stream trickled over its bed of stones. It was not much of a brook at best, and the drought had caused it to lose much of its life. However, it was still there, and there were delicious little hollows of coolness between the stones over which it flowed, and large trees stood about with their feet rooted in the blessed damp. Then Daniel sank down. He tried to reach a hand to the water, but could not. The black veil had woven a compact mass before his eyes. There was a terrible throbbing in his head, but his arms were numb.

Little Dan’l stood looking at him, and her lip quivered. With a mighty effort Daniel cleared away the veil and saw the piteous baby face. “Take — Uncle Dan’l’s hat and — fetch him — some water,” he gasped. “Don’t go too — close and — tumble in.”

The child obeyed. Daniel tried to take the dripping hat, but failed. Little Dan’l was wise enough to pour the water over the old man’s head, but she commenced to weep, the pitiful, despairing wail of a child who sees failing that upon which she has leaned for support.

Daniel rallied again. The water on his head gave him momentary relief, but more than anything else his love for the child nerved him to effort.

“Listen, little Dan’l,” he said, and his voice sounded in his own ears like a small voice of a soul thousands of miles away. “You take the — umbrella, and — you take the fan, and you go real slow, so you don’t get overhet, and you tell Mis’ Dean, and –“

Then old Daniel’s tremendous nerve, that he had summoned for the sake of love, failed him, and he sank back. He was quite unconscious — his face, staring blindly up at the terrible sky between the trees, was to little Dan’l like the face of a stranger. She gave one cry, more like the yelp of a trodden animal than a child’s voice. Then she took the open umbrella and sped away. The umbrella bobbed wildly — nothing could be seen of poor little Dan’l but her small, speeding feet. She wailed loudly all the way.

She was half-way home when, plodding along in a cloud of brown dust, a horse appeared in the road. The horse wore a straw bonnet and advanced very slowly. He drew a buggy, and in the buggy were Dr. Trumbull and Johnny, his son. He had called at Daniel’s to see the little girl, and, on being told that they had gone to walk, had said something under his breath and turned his horse’s head down the road.

“When we meet them, you must get out, Johnny,” he said, “and I will take in that poor old man and that baby. I wish I could put common sense in every bottle of medicine. A day like this!”

Dr. Trumbull exclaimed when he saw the great bobbing black umbrella and heard the wails. The straw-bonneted horse stopped abruptly. Dr. Trumbull leaned out of the buggy. “Who are you?” he demanded.

“Uncle Dan’l is gone,” shrieked the child.

“Gone where? What do you mean?”

“He — tumbled right down, and then he was — somebody else. He ain’t there.”

“Where is ‘there’? Speak up quick!”

“The brook — Uncle Dan’l went away at the brook.”

Dr. Trumbull acted swiftly. He gave Johnny a push. “Get out,” he said. “Take that baby into Jim Mann’s house there, and tell Mrs. Mann to keep her in the shade and look out for her, and you tell Jim, if he hasn’t got his horse in his farm-wagon, to look lively and harness her in and put all the ice they’ve got in the house in the wagon. Hurry!”