water. When he returned Tom was just opening his eyes.
"Dick! Some—something hi—hit me!" gasped the hurt one.
"They threw that wooden footstool at you, Tom. I'm afraid you're badly hurt."
"Am I? I—I feel mighty queer," returned Tom, and then he closed his eyes again.
Dick was now more alarmed than ever. He carried his brother to the dining room, and laid him on some chairs, with a doubled-up blanket from a bed for a pillow. He washed Tom's head and bound it up as best he could. Once or twice the injured youth opened his eyes for an instant, but he did not make a sound.
"It was a fearful blow,—it must have been!" thought Dick. "I hope they didn't crack his skull!"
Josiah Crabtree was still groaning in the next room, but Dick paid little attention to the man. Nor did he think of the rascals who had escaped. All his thoughts were centered on Tom.
"If I only knew where to get a doctor," he mused. Then he ran out of the house by the front door and looked up and down the road.
A carriage was approaching, containing three men. As it drew closer Dick saw that one of
