Page 39 - A Little Bush Maid

At that moment Jim’s pony put his foot into a hole, and went down like a
shot rabbit, bowling over and over, Jim flung like a stone out of a catapult,

landed some distance ahead of the pony. He, too, rolled for a moment, and
then lay still.

Tt seemed to Norah that she pulled Bobs up almost in his stride. Certainly
she was off before he had fairly slackened to a walk, throwing herself

wildly from the saddle. She tore up to Jim--Jim, who lay horribly still.

"Jim--dear Jim!" she cried. She took his head on her knee. "Jim--oh, Jim,
do speak to me!"

There was no sound. The boy lay motionless, his tanned face strangely
white. Harry, coming up, jumped off, and ran to his side.

"Ts he hurt much?"

"T don’t know--no, don’t you say he’s hurt much--he couldn’t be, in such a
second! Jim--dear--speak, old chap!" A big sob rose in her throat, and

choked her at the heavy silence. Harry took Jim’s wrist in his hand, and felt
with fumbling fingers for the pulse. Wally, having pulled his pony up with
difficulty, came tearing back to the little group.

"Ts he killed?" he whispered, awestruck.

A little shiver ran through Jim’s body. Slowly he opened his eyes, and
stretched himself.

"What’s up?" he said weakly. "Oh, T know. ... Mick?"

"He’s all right, darling," Norah said, with a quivering voice. "Are you hurt
much?"

"Bit of a bump on my head," Jim said, struggling to a sitting position. He

rubbed his forehead. "What’s up, Norah?" For the brown head had gone
down on his knee and the shoulders were shaking.