For the first thing he did was to gather up the poor, drenched girl in his arms and press her to his warm heart, while he said huskily to his man: “Fust thing we do, Jinkins, let us carry this poor lamb home to Goody, and make a second trip for the logs. I don’t know how she come to be here crazy, but it’s little Eva that we all love, and her gran’ma was my wife’s dearest friend!” Little Eva was melancholy mad. The weight of woe had turned her brain. Gentle and irresponsive as an infant, she suffered Goody Brown to undress her by a cheerful fire, after feeding her with brown bread and new milk, and put her to bed between warm white blankets. Then, overpowered by weariness, she slept almost as soundly as the dead. Goody wept in sympathy as she wrapped the scratched and bleeding little hands in salve and linen bandages, saying tenderly: “Poor little dear, she had started to see us, maybe, and got lost in the smoke, so she couldn’t find the way. Then she went out of her head with uneasiness, but no doubt she will be just like her own sweet self in the morning. Do you think we ought to send word to her gran’ther that she’s safe, Sam?” “Well, p’r’aps, to-morrow,” replied her husband, adding apprehensively: “You cain’t expect nobody to ride nine miles to Stony Ledge to-night in sech a snowstorm as is coming up now!” “No, I reckon not,” she returned placidly, for she could not urge him to forsake the blazing open fire and homely cheer of the kitchen to encounter such a storm, even to allay Grandfather Groves’ anxiety. Goody was a splendid housewife, and Sam an appreciative husband, though he did rile her sometimes by what she called “his shif’less, percrasterinating ways!” But they did not have to wait till morning to find out the news, for presently a belated wayfarer happened in, craving shelter for the night; and then, over the apples and cider, and fresh gingerbread and pipes, he told them the story of the awful tragedy at Stony Ledge. They listened open-mouthed, with bated breath, to every word, their ruddy cheeks paling with horror. Now they understood why dear little Eva had been wandering crazed in the woods, driven mad by the awful consequence of her sin. For like others, they could not doubt that she was guilty, with the difference that a great pity surged up in their hearts for the erring girl. “She was so young, and Ludington was a handsome, smooth-spoken young scamp--not but we thought he was all right till now. You remember how soon he cured your rheumatiz last winter, wife?” said Sam. “Yes, and I said I would never call in that drunken old Binks again, long’s I could git Ludington,” she replied, adding, with a long sigh: “He was very pretty spoken, to be sure, but now I think he was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, for who else could have wronged sweet little Eva?”