"That's like your good heart, Jane," said the farmer, as he lifted up the limp form and conveyed it into the kitchen. A rosy, exceedingly pretty, dark-eyed girl who was busily frying corn-cakes over the fire came forward with an exclamation of surprise as he laid his burden down upon the lounge that stood in one corner. "Never mind the cakes, Jennie," said her mother. "Come and lend a hand to save a poor creetur as your father found perishin' in the road." "What can I do, mother?" asked the girl. "Take them muddy things off her feet, and rub the poor creetur's limbs dry," said the good woman, busying herself in removing the wet cloak, "I declare to gracious!" she said, after a moment. "How blind men are. Jerry called her a tramp. Look at them rings on her fingers! Look at that dress, fine enough for the finest bride! Is that the way tramps dress, Mr. Thorn?" "She's of the finest quality, mother," said the girl called Jennie. "Her slippers are white satin, her stockings pure silk, and worked all over with flowers." "Never mind the shoes and the stockings, Jennie," said her father, "but rub the little un's feet. See how cold and blue they are." Thus adjured, Jennie brought a warm flannel cloth, and began to rub the icy little feet of the wayfarer, while her mother brought strong camphor and bathed the pale face; now and then applying a bottle of ammonia to her nostrils. Under this vigorous treatment, and the revivifying heat of the room, the patient's heart began to beat quicker, and a faint, thread-like pulse to flutter in her blue-veined wrist. "Poor soul!" exclaimed Mrs. Thorn. "I _do_ wonder how she came to be out in such a storm? All in her party dress, too! She'd be as pretty as a pink, with her eyes open, and a bit more color in her cheeks." The farmer now approached with a cup of warm coffee and a teaspoon. "Belike she needs summat to warm her up," he said. "Take the spoon, Jane, and force a wee bit of coffee between her lips." Mrs. Thorn did as requested, but with no visible result for the better. The patient still lay with closed eyes and lips, showing no sign of life, save in the tremulous beat of her heart and the faint, faint pulse of her wrist. Mrs. Thorn still worked patiently over her, but at the end of an hour looked disheartened. "I mistrust that this is a case for the doctor," she said; "we have done what we could, but all to no use." "I could bring a doctor, but who's to pay him?" said the farmer. "We have no money, Jane, and Jennie's out of work." "The lady could pay him, herself," suggested Jennie. "There's them rings on her fingers worth a mint of money." "Yea, that's so," said the mother. "Go and get the doctor, Jennie. The lady will die, I'm afraid, if she lays in this state much longer." "I'll go and bring Dr. Pillsbury, then," said the farmer, going out, followed by repeated injunctions from his wife to hurry.