s at Embley, the vicar, who was very fond of her, used often
to take her out riding when he went on his rounds to see his people.
Florence enjoyed this very much; she knew them all well, and never
forgot the names of the children or their birthdays. Her mother would
often give her something nice to carry to the sick ones, and when the
flowers came out, Florence used to gather some for her special
favourites, out of her own garden.

* * * * *

One day when she and the vicar were cantering across the downs, they saw
an old shepherd, who was a great friend of both of them, attempting to
drive his flock without the help of his collie, Cap, who was nowhere to
be seen.

'What has become of Cap?' they asked, and the shepherd told them that
some cruel boys had broken the dog's leg with a stone, and he was in
such pain that his master thought it would be more merciful to put an
end to him.

Florence was hot with indignation. 'Perhaps _I_ can help him,' she said.
'At any rate, he will like me to sit with him; he must feel so lonely.
Where is he?'

'In my hut out there,' answered the shepherd; 'but I'm afraid it's
little good you or anyone else can do him.'

But Florence did not hear, for she was galloping as fast as she could to
the place where Cap was lying.

'Poor old fellow, poor old Cap,' whispered she, kneeling down and
stroking his head, and Cap looked up to thank her.

'Let me examine his leg,' said the vicar, who had entered behind her;
'he does not hold it as if it were broken. No, I am sure it is not,' he
added after a close inspection. 'Cheer up, we will soon have him well
again.'

Florence's eyes brightened.

'What can I do?' she asked eagerly.

'Oh, make him a compress. That will take down the swelling,' replied the
vicar, who was a little of a doctor himself.

'A compress?' repeated Florence, wrinkling her forehead. 'But I never
heard of one. I don't know how.'

'Light a fire and boil some water, and then wring out some cloths in it,
and put them on Cap's paw. Here is a boy who will make a fire for you,'
he added, beckoning to a lad who was passing outside.

While the fire was kindling, Florence looked about to find the cloths.
But the shepherd did not seem to have any, and her own little
handkerchief would not do any good. Still, cloths she must have, and
those who knew Miss Nightingale in after years would tell you that when
she _wanted_ things she _got_ them.

'