The old Squire stopped the horses, jumped from
his seat over the off horse's back and was ahead of us all, crying,
"Ruth, Ruth!"
There was a huge heap of loose hay on the ground, fully ten feet high,
but she was nowhere to be seen in it. Nor did she speak or stir.
"Great Lord, I'm afraid it's killed her!" Elder Witham exclaimed. Jim
and Asa stood horrified, and the girls burst out crying.
The old Squire had turned white. "Ruth! Ruth!" he cried. "Are you badly
hurt? Do you hear? Can't you answer?" Not a sound came from the hay, not
a movement; and, falling on his knees, he began digging it away with his
hands. None of us dared use our hay-forks, and now, following his
example, we began tearing away armfuls of hay. A moment later, Addison,
who was burrowing nearly out of sight, got hold of one of her hands. It
frightened him, and he cried out; but he pulled at it. Instantly there
was a laugh from somewhere underneath, then a scramble that continued
until at last grandmother Ruth emerged without aid of any sort and stood
up, a good deal rumpled and covered with hay but laughing.
"It didn't hurt me a mite!" she protested. "I came down light as a
feather!"
"But why didn't you answer when we called to you?" the elder exclaimed
reprovingly.
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