Barney had just come up from the field, and was at his own door when his father came panting into the yard. "What is it? what's the matter?" he cried out. "Mother's fell!" gasped Caleb. "Fell! has she hurt her?" "Dunno--she can't get up; come quick!" As Barney rushed out of the yard he cast a glance up the hill towards Charlotte's house; in every crisis of his life his mind turned involuntarily to her, as if she were another self, to be made acquainted with all its exigencies. But when he came out on the road he met Charlotte herself face to face; she had been over to her Aunt Sylvia's. "Something is wrong with mother," Barney said, with a strange appeal. Then he went on, and Charlotte was at his side, running as fast as he. Caleb hurried after them, panting, the tears running down his old cheeks. "Father says she's fell!" Barney said, as they sped along. "Maybe she's only fainted," responded Charlotte's steady, faithful voice. But Deborah Thayer had more than fainted. It might have been that Ephraim had inherited from her the heart-taint that had afflicted and shortened his life, and it might have been that her terrible experiences of the last few months would have strained her heart to its undoing, had its valves been made of steel. Barney carried his mother into the bedroom, and laid her on the bed. He and Charlotte worked over her, but she never spoke nor moved again. At last Charlotte laid her hand on Barney's arm. "Come out now," said she, and Barney followed her out. When they were out in the kitchen Barney looked in her face. "It's no use, she's gone!" he said, hoarsely. Charlotte nodded. Suddenly she put her arms up around his neck, and drew his head down to her bosom, and held it there, stroking his cheek. "Oh, Charlotte," Barney sobbed. Charlotte bent over him, whispering softly, smoothing his hair and cheek with her tender hand. Caleb had gone for the doctor and Rebecca while they tried to restore Deborah, and had given the alarm on the way. Some women came hurrying in with white faces, staring curiously even then at Barney and Charlotte; but she never heeded them, except to answer in the affirmative when they asked, in shocked voices, if Deborah was dead. She went on soothing Barney, as if he had been her child, with no more shame in it, until he raised his white face from her breast of his own accord. "Oh, Charlotte, you will stay to-night, won't you?" he pleaded.