"Of course,
it is a pretty costly accident for me, but I think I know where I can get a
heifer--one of Brindle's own calves, that I sold to a farmer two years
ago--that will make as fine a cow as her mother."
"But the money, Dr. Layton! How can I ever earn that to make good your
loss?" implored the boy, looking up.
"The money? O, well, some day when you are a rich man, you can pay me for
the cow!" laughed the doctor, taking up the reins. "In the meantime, make a
good, trustworthy, honest man of yourself, no matter whether you get rich
or not, and keep your 'thinking cap' on a little better."
"You had better eat some supper," said a voice in the doorway a little
later, as Mrs. Layton came noiselessly to the barn, and surprised the boy
kneeling on the hay in the horse's stall adjoining the one where Brindle
lay groaning, his face buried in his arms, which were flung out over the
manger.
The lad scrambled to his feet in deep confusion.
"O, thank you, Mrs. Layton, but I cannot eat a bite!" he protested. "It is
ever so good of you to think of me, but I cannot eat anything."
"You must," said the doctor's wife, firmly.
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