I was thankful Annabel was not present to hear this description, but I smiled at it nevertheless. "And machine-made things are so horrid, too," I said; "they lose the individual touch, which makes for charm and originality." Fay nodded. "I know. You can't really be fond of things which are made by the score exactly alike. I don't believe that even parents would be fond of their children if they were turned out in dozens like the plates of a dinner-service." In a few minutes we reached the crowd in the hayfield, which respectfully parted to make way for us; and then with an exceeding bitter cry, which tore my heart-strings to breaking-point, Fay rushed forward and fell on her knees beside the recumbent form of Frank, who was lying white and unconscious on the ground. Then there followed a dreadful time for Fay, and for me, too, as by that time whatever hurt her hurt me also. Frank, with his usual light-hearted carelessness, had stood too near to that horrible Juggernaut, the hay-cutting machine, with the terrible consequence that one of the scythes had nearly cut off his foot. We carried him on a hurdle to the Rectory, and for days he hung between life and death. Sometimes it seemed impossible to believe that a creature so full of life as Frank could die, and then again it seemed incredible that any one so terribly wounded could live. But at last lock-jaw set in, and then the doctors pronounced the case absolutely hopeless. It was torture to me to see Fay's agony of mind; yet there was a sweetness mingled with the bitterness in my knowledge of the fact that she turned to me for help and comfort; at least, hardly for comfort--the time for comfort had not yet arrived, but for that sympathy in her sorrow, which is very near akin to consolation. Annabel was very capable and efficient during this sad time--a veritable rock of strength to all of us who clung to her. But although she could have done far more for Fay than my poor, blundering, male self could ever do, I could not blind my eyes to the fact that--with sweet, childish perversity--Fay clung to me rather than to Annabel. That the child was foolish in this, I could not but admit; but I loved her all the more for her dear folly. I had come to the Rectory to hear the verdict of the great specialist from London, and he had gone back to town, leaving Jeffson, our local doctor, to make Frank's passing as easy as possible. Fay was with the nurses in Frank's room, and I was loafing aimlessly about with nothing to do, and nothing that was worth doing. Like all days of great sorrow, the day seemed neither a Sunday nor a weekday, but a sort of terrible Good Friday, with the darkness and the earthquake looming nearer every moment.