It was the sleeve of a man’s rough coat thrust out of the snowbank that brought this last cry to the child’s lips. In a very few moments the sign of the unfortunate wayfarer would have been completely covered in the drifting snow. “Oh, oh! It’s a man!” burst from Carolyn May’s trembling lips. “How cold he must be!” She was cold herself—and frightened. She had heard of people dying in the snow; and this person seemed perfectly helpless. “Oh, dear me, Prince!” she cried, recovering a measure of her courage. “We can’t let him die here! We’ve just _got_ to save him!” She plumped down on her knees and began brushing the snow away. She uncovered his shoulder. She took hold of this with her mittened hands and tried to shake the prone figure. He moved. It was ever so little, but it inspired Carolyn May with hope. She was not so much afraid of him now, she told herself. He was not dead. “Oh, do wake up! Please wake up!” she cried, digging away the snow as fast as possible. A shaggy head was revealed, with an old cap pulled down tightly over the ears. The man moved again and grunted something. He half turned over, and there was blood upon the snow, and a great frosted cake of it on the side of his face. Carolyn May was dreadfully frightened. The man’s head was cut and the blood was smeared over the front of his jacket. Now she could see a puddle of it, right where he had fallen on the ice—just as she had fallen herself. Only, he had struck his head on a rock and cut himself. “You poor thing!” murmured Carolyn May. “Oh, you mustn’t lie here! You must get up! You’ll—you’ll be frozen!” “Easy, mate,” muttered the man. “I ain’t jest right in my top-hamper, I reckon. Hold hard, matey.” He tried to get up. He rose to his knees, but pitched forward again. Carolyn May was not afraid of him now—only troubled. “I’ll take you to Miss Amanda,” cried the little girl, pulling at his coat again. “She’s a nurse, and she’ll know just what to do for you. Come, Prince and I will take you.” The dog stood by whining, acting as though he knew just what the trouble was and was anxious to help. The man struggled up into a kneeling posture. “My top-hamper ain’t jest right,” he murmured again. “That was a crack! Blood! I reckon I’m some hurt, miss.” “Well, I should say you were hurt!” Carolyn May responded briskly. “But I know Miss Mandy can fix you up. Let’s go there—_now_! It’s awfully cold standing here.” “Belike I can’t get there,” mumbled the man, still on his knees. “Oh, you must! It’s not far. You were coming towards The Corners, weren’t you?” “I was bound out o’ town; yes, miss,” the man replied. “Miss Amanda’s is the last house you passed, then. It isn’t far,” repeated Carolyn May. “I—I don’t believe I kin make it, matey,” groaned the man, evidently not quite clear in his mind whom he was addressing. He weaved to and fro as he knelt, his eyes half-closed, muttering and groaning to himself.