"Did it hurt him?" asked Phronsie, in a sorry tone.

"I s'pose so," said Abram's mother, "for he didn't know nothin',
an' th' men folks came who'd seen me runnin' an' heard Jane
hollerin' an' took him off before he came to, which he did after
a spell, as lively as a cricket. An' they dragged me up, more
dead'n alive, an' I hain't run a step since."

Phronsie drew a long breath of relief that no one was killed.
Davie gazed at Abram's mother in great satisfaction. "Tell us
some more," he said.

"An' I might as well have flung off that red shawl," she went on,
ignoring his request, "if I could a' got out that pin, for it
was all smutched up, fallin' in that mess, an' I couldn't put it
on my back. It beats all how you never know what's best to do;
but then, says I, you've no call to worry afterwards, if you
decide in a hurry. Sho now, go easy, you!" And at last they drew
up at Mrs. Beebe's door.

There she stood in the doorway, in a cap with new pink ribbons,
and old Mr. Beebe just a little back, smiling and rubbing his
hands, and in the little window where the shoes and rubbers and
slippers were hanging was a big round face plastered up against
the small panes of glass.

"There's Ab'm, now," exclaimed his mother, proudly. "I guess
when you see him you'll say there never was sech a boy. Well,
I'm glad we're here safe an' sound, an' this horse hain't run nor
nothin'. Now, hop out,"--which injunction was not needed.