But when Julie was sixteen, this period came to an abrupt end on a day in the woods, when a tree which Emmet Rose was felling failed to drop on the spot he had named, but fell instead upon him. They brought him home, out of the woods, to Hart’s Run--a painful journey--by way of tram cars and rough frozen roads with ice and skifts of snow in the ruts, with Sam Fletcher, who drove, feeling in his own body every dreadful jolt of the wagon; for, as he confided to his intimates, if there was one thing he did naturally _de_spise, it was haulin’ a crippled hand out of the woods. Julie and her mother were dazed by the shock. Their scared faces fell into a mould of horror that did not lighten or relax when they spoke or even when they tried to smile. Their little hands shook, but they went on and did things efficiently and bravely. Emmet Rose watched them sadly out of his big face that was gaunt and curiously stretched with pain to a wider apprehension. Once when her mother was out of the room, he put out his uninjured hand to Julie and spoke darkly. “It’s got me. I allus knew it would.” Julie’s heart jumped violently. “What’s got you, pappy, honey?” she questioned, putting her hand in his. “Life,” he answered. “It’s got me down at last. I allus knew it would. It gits every feller in the end. I stood up aginst it an’ fought it like a two-fisted man, but it’s got me, an’ now I’ll jist have to lay down on you women-folks. Don’t tell mammy--she’s scary enough anyhow.” This admission was the climax of terror to Julie. She had always sheltered in her father’s loud confidence. To have him broken in body was frightful enough; to see his broken spirit laid bare, to know that always that sinister dread had lurked in the back of his mind, and that all his big bluster was just a cloak for it, seemed to take the roof from over her head, leaving her uncovered in a bleak world. Her heart beat so fearfully that the thin material of her blouse fluttered up and down. Nevertheless, she put her other hand, cold as it was, steadfastly over her father’s. “Never mind, pappy, honey!” she said. “Never mind. We’ll manage someway.” He looked dimly at her white face with the big eyes, and felt the tremor of her fingers. “Poor Julie,” he said. “Poor little Julie. I kind of hate to have life git a-hold of you.” But after all Emmet Rose did not have to “lay down” long on his women-folks. A broken rib had pierced one lung, pneumonia set in, and five days after they brought him out of the woods his great body was stiff and tenantless, and Julie and her mother, two terrified little people, were left alone. Yet, for all their fear, with a dogged pertinacity they rebuilt their lives and struggled on, like a chess-player, who having lost his best piece still fights on with what the game has left to him.