Tender hands brought them forth and carried them gently on stretchers
out from the circle of danger and noise and smoke. Eagerly they were
ministered to, with oil and old linen and stimulants. There were
doctors from Economy and one from Monopoly besides the Sabbath Valley
doctor, who was like a brother to the minister and had known Mark since
he was born. They worked as if their lives depended upon it, till all
that loving skill could do was done.
Billy, his eyelashes and brows gone, half his hair singed off, one eye
swollen shut and great blisters on his hands and arms, sat huddled and
shivering on the ground between the two stretchers. The fire was still
going on but he was "all in." The only thing left he could do was to
bow his bruised face on his trembling knees and pray: "Oh God, Ain't You gonta let 'em live--please!"
They carried Mark to the Saxon cottage and laid him on Billy's bed.
There was no lack of nurses. Aunt Saxon and Christie McMertrie, the
Duncannons and Mary Rafferty, Jim too, and Tom. It seemed that
everybody claimed the honors. The minister was across the street in the
Little House. They dared not move him farther. Of the two the case of
the minister was the most hopeless. He had borne the burden of the
fall. He had been struck by the falling timbers, his body had been a
cover for the younger man. In every way the minister had not saved
himself.
The days that followed were full of anxiety. There were a few others
more or less injured in the fire, for there had been fearless work, and
no one had spared himself. But the two who hung at the point of death
for so long were laid on the hearts of the people, because they were
dear to almost every one.
Little neighborhood prayer meetings sprang up quietly here and there,
beginning at Duncannons. The neighbor on either side would come in and
they would just drop down and pray for the minister, and for "that
other dear brave brother." Then the Littles heard of it and called in a
few friends. One night when both sufferers were at the crisis and there
seemed little hope for the minister, Christie McMertrie called in the
Raffertys and they were just on the point of kneeling down when Mrs.
Harricutt came to the door. She had been crying. She said she and her
husband hadn't slept a wink the night before, they were so anxious for
the minister. Christie looked at her severely, but remembering the
commands about loving and forgiving, relented: "Wull then, come on ben an' pray. Tom, you go call her husband! This is
na time fer holdin' grudges. But mind, wumman, if ye coom heer to pray
ye must pray with as mooch fervor for the healin' o' Mark
Carter as ye do fer the meenister! He's beloved of the Lord too,
an' the meenister nigh give his life for him."