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“Worse!” exclaimed Charles, as he walked on, “poor Mary Ann, but I wonder”—he hesitated as the thought struck him whether if the worse should come, as the doctor seems to anticipate, if it would delay Janey’s marriage, what with one delay and another. He walked on to the parson’s house where he found Mrs. Davis, playing the invalid, lying on a sofa, her auburn hair was disheveled, her cheeks flushed; the burnt arm, her muslin sleeve pinned up, was stretched out on a cushion, a pocket handkerchief, saturated with water, resting lightly on the burns, a basin of water stood near with another handkerchief in it, and the maid was near to exchange the handkerchiefs as might be required. Charles Taylor drew his chair near to Mrs. Davis and listened to the account of the accident, giving her his full sympathy, for it might have been a bad one. “You must possess great presence of mind,” he observed. “I think your showing it, as you have done in this instance, has won the doctor’s heart.” Mrs. Davis smiled. “I believe I do possess presence of mind; once we were riding out with some friends in a carriage when the horses took fright, ran away, and nearly tore the carriage to pieces; while all were frightened in a fearful manner I remained calm and cool.” “It is a good thing for you,” he observed. “I suppose it is; better at any rate than to go mad with fear, as some do. Martha has had enough fright to last her for a year.” “What were you doing, Martha?” asked her brother. “I was present but I did not see it,” replied Martha; “it occurred in her room, and I was in the hall looking out of the window with my back to her; the first I knew or saw, Mrs. Davis was lying on the floor with the rug rolled around her.” Tea was brought in and Mrs. Davis insisted that they should remain to it. Charles pleaded an engagement but she would not listen; they could not have the heart to leave her alone, so Charles, the very essence of good feeling and politeness, remained. Tea having been over, Martha went upstairs to get her wraps. Mrs. Davis turned her head as the door was closed and then spoke abruptly: “I am glad that Mr. Davis was not here, he would have magnified it into something formidable, and I should not have been let stir for a month.” The door opened, Martha appeared, they wished Mrs. Davis “good night,” a speedy cure from her burns, and departed, Charles, taking the straight path this time, which did not lead them near the maple trees. “How quaint old Doctor Brown is,” said Martha, as they walked along; “when he had looked at Mrs. Davis’ arm he made a great parade of getting out his glasses and putting them on, and looking again.”