Tom saw what was coming just in time to seize Lillie, who was standing beside him, and throw her violently from him out into the green grass of the lawn, and then the heavy timber had fallen into the house, crushing in the part already finished, and with it the boy who stood under its shadow. “Oh, papa!” said Lillie, standing on her feet in the long green grass, and half crying, “Tom hurt me so bad.” “Hush!” said her father in reply. “Go home to your mother. Tom is under those ruins.” It was with a very white face that he gave quick directions that the timbers should be removed, and Lillie, as soon as she saw what had happened, never moved. The news spread like lightning, and a group of pained, grave faces soon gathered round the crushed building, to see if possible whether the human body covered with the fearful weight had still life within it. When at length they lifted Tom from the ruins, he was found to be wounded and bruised terribly, but there was life still there, for the heart was beating. With a tinge of returning color in his face, Mr. Sutherland announced as much to the people, who stood waiting, thankful that the life was spared; and then, taking the trembling hand of his little daughter in his, he gave his orders. “Take Tom into my house, and put him in the south room. Tell Aunt Dinah that no pains must be spared to relieve him, and tell Gordon to order the horse immediately and I will ride for Dr. Bartier.” [Illustration] CHAPTER VIII. “It is well!” God’s ways are always right, And love is o’er them all, Tho’ far above our sight. Five weeks afterward, at the window of the south room in the mansion of the Sutherland plantation, in a deep easy-chair, propped up with pillows, sat or rather reclined, Tom Alson. His hands, grown slender and delicate by long illness, were resting upon an open letter which lay upon his knee, and his eyes were wandering out over the glorious country, with a little wistfulness in them that had of late been at home there. The landscape upon which the sick eyes rested was truly a beautiful one. The rich lands of the plantation stretched out and away off to the banks of the Tennessee, the waters of which were hidden by the cliff-like shores. Beyond this the mountains rose, and the eye followed the bends of the river by their ever-changing curves. A few of the trees on these densely-wooded slopes were changing color, and the scarlet and yellow among so much green made each color more intense. The fields which lay nearer home were truly “white unto the harvest.” The cotton-buds had burst everywhere, and over the Southern hills the fresh breezes of September were blowing. The hands were busy in the fields, and Tom counted many dark forms among the white cotton, hard at work.