We'll
be at home in half an hour, or less.-Now, Pope!"
The impatient horse, feeling the loosened rein, and hearing his own
name, darted away at speed; whirling the light wagon along so
rapidly, that the child clung convulsively to her new protector,
murmuring,--
"I guess I shall spill out of this, and get kilt."
"Oh, no, you won't, Sunshine! I shall hold you in. You're not Irish,
are you?"
"What's that?"
"Why, Irish, you know. You said 'kilt' just now, instead of
'killed,' as we do."
The child made no reply; but her head drooped upon Dora's shoulder
yet more heavily, and her eyes closed.
"Are you sick, little girl? or only tired?" asked Dora, looking
anxiously down into the colorless face, over which the evening
breeze was gently strewing the tangled curls, as if to hide it from
mortal view, while the poor, worn, spirit fled away to peace and
rest.
"Sunshine!" exclaimed Dora, gently moving the heavy head that still
drooped lower and lower, until now the face was hidden from view.
"She has fainted!" said Dora, looking anxiously about her. No house
and no person were in sight, nor any stream or pond of water; and
the young girl decided that the wisest course would be to drive home
as rapidly as possible, postponing all attempt to revive her little
patient until her arrival there.
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