ive in out-of-the-way places, far
from medical help, learn to be self-reliant, and as soon as Squire
Winthorpe realised what was wrong he gave orders for the injured man to
be carried to the couch in the dining parlour, where his wet jacket was
taken off by the simple process of ripping up the back seam.

"Now, mother, the scissors," said the squire, "and have some bandages
ready. You, Dick, if it's too much for you, go away. If it isn't:
stop. You may want to bind up a wound some day."

Dick felt a peculiar sensation of giddy sickness, but he tried to master
it, and stood looking on as the shirt sleeve was cut open, and the young
man's white arm laid bare to the shoulder, displaying an ugly wound in
the fleshy part.

"Why, it's gone right through, mother," whispered the squire, shaking
his head as he applied sponge and cold water to the bleeding wounds.

"And doctor says there's veins and artrys, mester," said Hickathrift,
huskily. "One's bad and t'other's worse. Which is it, mester?"

"I hope and believe there is no artery touched," said the squire; "but
we must run no risk. Hickathrift, my man, the doctor must be fetched.
Go and send one of the men."

"Nay, squire, I'll go mysen," replied the big wheelwright. "Did'st see
his goon, Mester Dick?"

"No, I saw no gun."

"Strange pity a man can't carry a gun like a Chrishtun," said the
wheelwright, "and not go shutin hissen that way."

The wheelwright went off, and the squire busied himself binding up the
wounds, padding and tightening, and proving beyond doubt that no artery
had been touched, for the blood was soon nearly staunched, while, just
as he was finishing, and Mrs Winthorpe was drawing the sleeve on one
side so as to secure a bandage with some stitches, something rolled on
to the floor, and Dick picked it up.

"What's that, Dick--money?"

"No, father; leaden bullet."

"Ha! that's it; nice thing to go through a man's arm," said the squire
as he examined the roughly-cast ragged piece of lead. "We must look for
his gun to-morrow. What did he expect to get with a bullet at a time
like this? Eh? What were you trying to shoot, Marston?" said the
squire, as he found that the young man's eyes were open and staring at
him.

"I--trying to shoot!"

"Yes; of course you didn't mean to bring yourself down," said the
squire, smiling; "but what in the world, man, were you trying to shoot
with bullets out here?"

The young engineer did not reply, b