able or hurt, and then you are all just
little boys again, crying for somebody to kiss the bump."

"But when it is a woman who has given the--er--bump?" he asked.

Aggie is romantic. Years ago she was engaged to a Mr. Wiggins, a roofer,
who met with an accident due to an icy roof. She leaned forward and
looked at him with sympathy.

"That's it, is it?" she asked gently.

He tried to smile, but we could all see that he was suffering.

"Yes, that's it--partly at least," he said.

"That is, if it were not for a woman----" He stopped abruptly. "But why
should I bother you with my troubles?"

We were curious, of course; but it is hardly good taste to ask a man to
confide his heartaches. As Tish said, the best cure for a masculine
heartache is to make the man comfortable. We did all we could. I dried
his coat by the fire, and Tish made hot arnica compresses for his ankle,
which was blue and swollen. I believe Aggie would gladly have sat by and
held his hand, but he had crawled into his shell of reserve again and
would not be coaxed out.

"I have a nephew about your age," Tish said when he objected to her
bathing his ankle. "I'm doing for you what I should do for Charlie Sands
under the same circumstances."

"Charlie Sands!" he said, and I was positive he started. But he said
nothing, and we only remembered that later. We were glad to have a man
about. Heaven only knows why women persist in regarding men as absolute
protection against fire, burglars and lightning. But they do. A sharp
storm came up at that time, and ordinarily Aggie would have been in her
sleeping-bag, with Modestine's saddle on top by way of extra protection.
But now, from sheer bravado, she went to the mouth of the cave and stood
looking out at the lightning.

"Come and look at it, Tish!" she said.

"It's---- Good gracious! There's a man across the valley with a gun!"

We all ran to the mouth of the cave except the walking-tour gentleman,
who had his foot in a collapsible basin of arnica and hot water. But
none of us saw Aggie's man.

When we went back: "Wouldn't it be better to darken things up a bit?" he
suggested. "If there are bandits round it isn't necessary to send out a
welcome to them, you know."

This seemed only sensible. We put the fire out and sat in the warm
darkness. And that was when our gentleman told us his story.

"Ladies," he began, "in saying that I am on a walking tour I am telling
the truth, but only part of the truth.