Richard Dares Venture | Page 4

lost!" cried Grace indignantly. "Didn't
he bring us all safe through Baker's woods last fall, when we were
nutting?"
"Baker's woods isn't New York city," replied her elder sister.

"Hundreds of streets and millions of people! He'd have to keep his eyes
wide open and his wits about him."
"And that is just what I would do!" broke in Richard. "You don't
suppose I'd stand around like a gawk, staring at people!"
"But is it for fortune?" repeated Grace, freeing her hands from the
dough and coming up close.
"Yes, it's for fortune, if that's what you call it," said Richard bluntly.
"I'm tired of Mossvale, and I'm going to strike out, that is if I can get
consent. I've spoken to mother about it already, and if--"
A heavy knock on the back stoop caused Richard to stop speaking.
Going to the door, he was confronted by Nicholas Boswell, a young
farmer who lived a short distance down the road.
"Hello, Nick!" exclaimed Richard. "That you? Come in!"
Nicholas Boswell was pale, and his face showed a troubled expression.
For several seconds ho seemed hardly able to speak.
"No, thank'ee, Dick," he said at last. "I come to tell you that--" and here
his eyes roved over to Nancy and Grace, and he stopped short.
"What?" asked the boy. "You ain't sick, are you?" he continued,
noticing the unusual pallor on the other's countenance.
"Oh, no, I ain't sick," replied Boswell. "I never get sick. I was never
sick in my life--'cepting when I was a babby. But I--that is--there's a
man--some men wants to see you," he faltered.
"To see me! Where?"
"They are down the road aways. I'll show you."
"What do they want?"
"Come on--never mind asking questions," closing one eye and bobbing

his head, as if he did not wish the girls to hear more.
"All right," returned Richard, and closing the door he followed Boswell
up the lane to the road.
"Accidents is bad things, Dick," began the young farmer, as they drew
away from the house. "But they will happen, you know--they will
happen."
"What do you mean?" asked the boy quickly. "Who's had an accident?"
"Well, you see a man with the rheumatism ain't so sure of his footing as
is one who ain't got no such affliction."
"And my father?" began Richard, his heart jumping suddenly into his
throat.
"Your father as a painter often climbed long, limbery ladders as he
hadn't oughter," continued Boswell soberly.
"Is he--is he _dead_?" gasped the boy, standing stock-still.
"No, oh, no!" exclaimed the young farmer. "But he had an awful fall,
and he's pretty bad. I thought I'd tell you first, 'cause it might shock
your mother."
"Where is he?"
"The men is bringing him up the road. Here they come now. You'd
better go back, and kinder break the news to the folks. I'm terribly
gritty--as gritty as any man--but I can't do that!"
Richard did not hear the last words. Trembling from head to foot, he
sped up the road to meet four men, carrying a rude stretcher between
them and slowly approaching.
CHAPTER II.
BITTER MOMENTS.

The serious accident that had befallen Mr. Dare was in reality a very
simple one. The ladder that he had been ascending was covered with
early morning dew, and when near the top his foot had slipped, and,
being unable, on account of his rheumatism, to catch a quick hold, he
had fallen on his side to the ground. No one had seen his fall, and he
lay unconscious for full ten minutes before a fellow workman, who had
been busy on the other side of the building, discovered him and
summoned assistance.
The five or six men that were soon gathered did what they could to
bring him to consciousness, but without success. One of them ran off to
hunt up the doctor, and then the others took a door that had not yet been
hung in the new house, and, fastening a heavy strip at either end for
handles, covered it with their coats, and placed the wounded man upon
it.
None of the men cared to face Mrs. Dare with such painful news, and it
was only after repeated urging that Nicholas Boswell had been induced
to go on ahead.
"My father, my poor father!" was all Richard could say, as he gazed at
the motionless form upon the litter.
[Illustration: "My father, my poor father!"]
"Reckon he's hurt pretty bad," said Sandy Stone, a mason, who had
been the first to be called to the scene of the accident. "'Tain't outside
so much as it's in. Wait till we get him home."
For Richard was bending over his father, and trying his best to do
something that would help the unconscious sufferer.
"Did you