What sympathy have rocks? Ever since they first began, the chief object of their life has been to knock human beings (generally on the shins, and knees) and to petrify them in a cave, at every opportunity, and to keep them from getting away from the sea, when the poor pulse is being beaten out of them. Typical are they of all that is stubborn, rugged, and relentless; and now one of them fetched me a knock on the knee (while my presence of mind was with Laura) that sent me down into a gulley of sand, with my limpet-trowel running into me. This was a pointed steel implement, such as bricklayers use; and my escape was narrow. A heavy man must have had a very heavy wound, and perhaps a fatal one; for the handle of the trowel struck the ground before me, while the steel was pointing at my breast. But Nature has allowed me some compensation for the short weight unfairly served out to me,--especially quickness of eye, and of body. In a word, what there is of me is good stuff--though not much to boast of, as you will remind me. "Oh, what a fearful thing! What a very dreadful thing! Darling Tommy, are you quite dead again? You are always doing it, for the good of others. Oh, put your poor head up, and let me look at you." "That is not at all the right thing," I answered, after a groan or two, to ensure attention; "the proper thing is, for me to look at you. And that is how I got into all this trouble." "How good of you, Tommy! How very good of you! But do let me see, where your dreadful wound is. I won't be afraid of it, I promise you I won't; because you got it all for my sake. You are always getting wounds, for my sake." "Of course I am. And why?" As I put this question, I continued to lie in the pit of my fall; the position being very nice, with Laura added to it. "Because I am all wounds, and all dead, for you." "Now, don't be so stupid;" she said, with one arm going under my side, in a spirit of inquiry, and the other coming very softly round my neck; to coax me to get up, if I could only find the power. "You know, that you never are stupid, unless you are stunned, or bewildered, through your dreadful heroism. Oh, do let me try to get this fearful thing from under you. I won't cut my hands; and if I do, what can it matter? Very likely, you are bleeding to death, all this time. Why don't you let me see, where your terrible wound is?" "Because, I have only got a little scratch," I answered; "and I feel so very comfortable, as I am. If you could put your face the very least bit nearer----" "Do you think, you could lie quiet, while I go and fetch my mother? She has so much presence of mind, and she is----" "How far away?" I asked in an earnest whisper. "Oh, nearly a mile along the sands, I am afraid."