Mrs.Pemberton had the reputation of being "an excellent hand in sickness," and she immediately applied herself to the duty of restoring the sufferer to consciousness.
"Don't you think you had better go after the doctor, father ?" asked the good woman.

"Some of his bones may be broken, or he may be injured inwardly." "I shall not go for any doctor," snarled the squire.

"Do you think I will trust myself out doors while that howling mob is hanging round the house ?" "Fred can go," suggested Susan.
"He can, but he shall not," growled the squire, throwing himself into his arm chair in the corner, with an appearance of indifference and unconcern, which were far from representing the actual state of his mind.
Mrs.Pemberton said no more, but she and Susan went to work upon the sufferer with camphor and hartshorn in good earnest, and in a short time they had the satisfaction of seeing him open his eyes.

They continued the treatment for some time longer, with the most satisfactory result, till Tom astonished them by jumping off the sofa, and standing up in the middle of the room.

He rubbed his forehead, hunched up his left shoulder, and felt of his shins.
"Are you hurt, Thomas ?" asked Mrs.Pemberton, with more of tenderness in her tones than the squire deemed proper for the occasion.
"No, marm, I guess not," replied Tom.