How anxiously all watched as, when the water arrived, he softly sponged the brow and held the glass to the white lips! Alas! the dark lashes still drooped over those closed eyes, and as each moment passed Bolsover felt that it stood in the shadow of death.
At last there was a stir, as the sound of wheels approached in the lane.
And presently the figure of the doctor, accompanied by Mr Frampton, was seen running across the meadow.
As they reached the outskirts of the crowd, Jeffreys laid his hand on the doctor's arm with an appealing gesture.
"I did not mean--" he began.
But the doctor passed on through the path which the crowd opened for him to the fallen boy's side.
It was a moment of terrible suspense as he knelt and touched the boy's wrist, and applied his ear to his chest.

Then in a hurried whisper he asked two questions of Mr Freshfield, then again bent over the inanimate form.
They could tell by the look on his face as he looked up that there was hope--for there was life! "He's not dead!" they heard him whisper to Mr Frampton.
Still they stood round, silent and motionless.

The relief itself was terrible.

He was not dead, but would those deep-fringed eyes ever open again?
The doctor whispered again to Mr Frampton and Mr Freshfield, and the two passed their hands under the prostrate form to lift it.

But before they could do so the doctor, who never took his eyes off the boy's face, held up his hand suddenly, and said "No! Better have a hurdle," pointing to one which lay not far off on the grass.
A dozen boys darted for it, and a dozen more laid their coats upon it to make a bed.