So the teacher laid down the book, with a shudder, and wandered about the room, inspecting the late Mr.Beasley's portrait, the photographs in splintwork frames, the "alum basket" on the mantel, the blue castles, blue trees, and blue people pictured on the window shades, and other works of art in the apartment.

She even peeped into the parlor, but the musty, shut-up smell of that dusky tomb was too much for her, and she sat down by the sitting-room window, under the empty bird cage, to look up the road and watch for the return of the sulky and its occupants.
Sitting there, she was a witness of the alarming catastrophe on the hilltop, and reached the front gate just in time to see Henry go galloping by, dragging the four wheels and springs of the sulky, while, sprawled across the rear axle and still clinging to the reins, hung a familiar, howling, and most wickedly profane individual by the name of Bangs.
The runaway dashed on toward the blacksmith shop.

Phoebe, bareheaded and coatless, ran up the hill.

Before she reached the crest, she was aware of muffled screams, which sounded as if the screamer was shut up in a trunk.
"O-o-oh!" screamed Mrs.Beasley.

"O-o-oh! Ow! Let me out! Help! I'm stuck! My back's broke! He-e-lp!" The upper part of the sulky, with its boxlike curtained top, lay on its side in the road.