A dozen willing feet ran to the stable, and a dozen willing hands hitched up old Whitey to the rockaway, and Uncle Cesar, climbing into the little carriage, drove off furiously to the village two miles away. Meanwhile, Aunt Tulip and Betty applied such simple remedies as they knew to poor Kettle's wounds. The Colonel stood by the boy, saying to him: "Be a man, Kettle, be a little man. The doctor will soon be here." Betty, doing all she could to alleviate the little negro's sufferings, was weeping bitterly. "Doan' you cry, Miss Betty," gasped Kettle. "Why doan' you do like me! I ain' cryin' none. I tried fust for to save ole Marse's fiddle, an' then yo' party things, but I couldn't git nothin' but the fan, the fire bu'n me so hard." Kettle closed his eyes and knew no more for a time. The fire was out, and the men from Rosehill climbed down from the roof. Under Fortescue's direction, they made a great fire in the Colonel's fireplace. Then began the terrible waiting for the doctor to come. When Kettle could know no more whether Betty was sitting by him or not, she turned and saw Fortescue close beside her. The shock, the horror, the nearness of awful disaster, had torn away all reserve between them. As they looked into each other's eyes, they forgot the presence of Aunt Tulip, still working over Kettle, and the Colonel sitting in a chair by the side of the pallet, his gray head bent, and the rare salt tears of age trickling upon his cheeks. Yet Betty and Fortescue spoke calmly and conventionally. "How can I ever thank you enough?" said Betty, putting her hand into Fortescue's. "Suppose the boy had died without any one trying to rescue him!" "I couldn't let the poor little chap die like a rat in a hole," answered Fortescue. "Perhaps, after all, it was in vain," replied Betty; "but at least you tried to save him." Fortescue rose and went out. There was still work to be done. The drenched house had to be dried, fires made everywhere, planks found and nailed over the gaping roof. And so the time passed until the crunching of the wheels upon the ground announced Dr. Markham's arrival. The merciful downpour of rain continued, and, although it was six o'clock in the morning, the murky day was still dark. Dr. Markham walked into the room and made a swift examination of Kettle. "Will he live?" asked Betty. "Perhaps so," replied Dr. Markham. "It is a bad case, but he may pull through." CHAPTER XVIII "DOAN' YOU CRY, MISS BETTY!"