"Never mind, Jessie. Ranald, tell me about your father."

"He is very bad indeed, and my aunt is afraid that--" The boy's lip
trembled. Then he went on: "And she thought perhaps you might have some
medicine, and--"

"But what is the matter, Ranald?"

"He was hurted bad--and he is not right wise in his head."

"But how was he hurt?"

Ranald hesitated.

"I was not there--I am thinking it was something that struck him."

"Ah, a tree! But where did the tree strike him?"

"Here," pointing to his breast; "and it is sore in his breathing."

"Well, Ranald, if you put the saddle on Pony, I shall be ready in a
minute."

Jessie was indignant.

"You will not stir a foot this night. You will send some medicine, and
then you can go in the morning."

But the minister's wife heeded her not.