You go call 'em, and I'll blow the horn to start 'em up.

Tell her we'd be pleased to see her, and it won't make a mite of trouble." Ben heard no more, fur as Mrs.Paine turned to take down the tin horn he was up and away.
Several long and dismal toots sent Lita galloping through the grassy path as the sound of the trumpet excites a war-horse, and "father and Bijah," alarmed by the signal at that hour, leaned on their rakes to survey with wonder the distracted-looking little horseman approaching like a whirlwind.
"Guess likely grandpa's had 'nother stroke.

Told 'em to send over soon 's ever it come," said the farmer, calmly.
"Shouldn't wonder ef suthing was afire some'r's," conjectured the hired man, surveying the horizon for a cloud of smoke.
Instead of advancing to meet the messenger, both stood like statues in blue overalls and red flannel shirts, till the boy arrived and told his tale.
"Sho, that's bad," said the farmer, anxiously.
"That brook always was the darndest place," added Bijah; then both men bestirred themselves helpfully, the former hurrying to Miss Cella while the latter brought up the cart and made a bed of hay to lay her on.
"Now then, boy, you go for the doctor.

My own folks will see to the lady, and she'd better keep quiet up yender till we see what the matter is," said the farmer, when the pale girl was lifted in as carefully as four strong arms could do it.

"Hold on," he added, as Ben made one leap to Lita's back.