Unfortunately, just at that moment Charlie came rushing out of the tent from which the chorus “of the pink and the lily and the daffydowndilly” was still rolling, shouting for Fairy at the top of his voice. He was flushed and excited, his blue eyes sparkled, and he looked just what he was—a healthy, happy, lazy, labouring boy of sixteen, fresh and clean, but in thick shoes and corduroys, and not the least pretension in manner or appearance to be anything but a shepherd’s lad, thoroughly enjoying his first shearing-feast. As soon as he saw Fairy he ran up to her, and seizing her by the waist, cried— “Come along, Fairy, let us have a dance.” “Don’t, Charlie, I don’t want to dance; I am going to give Jack his supper,” said Fairy, pushing him away. “Nonsense! let Jack get his own supper. Come along. ‘Each lad takes his lass, All on the green grass,’” sung Charlie again, seizing Fairy by the waist; but before the words were out of his mouth, Jack, in an ungovernable fit of temper, had raised his crook, intending to give his brother a good stroke across the shoulders with it, but Charlie, turning his head suddenly round to see what was coming, met the blow, which fell heavily across his right temple. He staggered backwards half-stunned, and fell to the ground, striking the back of his head in his fall against the stone gate-post. There he lay insensible, and for the moment both Jack and Fairy thought he was killed on the spot. Down on their knees beside him they both knelt. All Jack’s anger vanished, and only a terrible fear, too terrible for words, taking possession of his heart. “Oh, Jack, Jack, what shall we do? what shall we do? Charlie, Charlie, do open your eyes! Oh, Jack, has he fainted? What is it?” “I don’t know, Fairy. Fetch mother, will you? We must carry him into the house,” said Jack, trying to feel if Charlie’s heart were still beating. Fairy flew rather than ran into the kitchen, where Mrs. Shelley was sitting resting after her hard week’s work, listening to the shearing songs, and watching lest Jack’s supper should burn. In spite of the hard work, perhaps partly because of it, it had been a very happy week to her, for she was very proud of John’s position as captain of the company, and up to the present nothing had occurred to spoil the feast; it had been as merry as any “White Ram” ever was, but no excess, no coarse jokes, no irreverent jests had ever been attempted, and Mrs. Shelley knew, if her husband did not, that his presence was in itself enough to prevent their occurrence. And now what an ending it was to have. “Mother! mother! come and help Jack! Charlie is dead, we are afraid,” cried Fairy, standing on the threshold, her great eyes open wider than ever, and her pale cheeks testifying there was at any rate some truth in her words. Mrs. Shelley was not a nervous woman, and she did not for a moment believe Charlie was killed, though she rose immediately to go and see what was the matter.