?" said Peregrine, turning back his horse,
but still not dismounting.

"Not much, I think," said Graham, smiling. "There's something wrong
about my arm,--but don't you wait." And then he found that he spoke
with difficulty.

"Can you mount again?"

"I don't think I'll mind that. Perhaps I'd better sit down." Then
Peregrine Orme knew that Graham was hurt, and jumping off his own
horse he gave up all hope of the hunt.

"Here, you fellow, come and hold these horses." So invoked, a boy who
in following the sport had got as far as this ditch did as he was
bid, and scrambled over. "Sit down, Graham: there; I'm afraid you
are hurt. Did he roll on you?" But Felix merely looked up into his
face,--still smiling. He was now very pale, and for the moment could
not speak. Peregrine came close to him, and gently attempted to raise
the wounded limb; whereupon Graham shuddered, and shook his head.

"I fear it is broken," said Peregrine. Graham nodded his head, and
raised his left hand to his breast; and Peregrine then knew that
something else was amiss also.

I don't know any feeling more disagreeable than that produced by
being left alone in a field, when out hunting, with a man who has
been very much hurt and who is incapable of riding or walking.
The hurt man himself has the privilege of his infirmities and may
remain quiescent; but you, as his only attendant, must do something.
You must for the moment do all, and if you do wrong the whole
responsibility lies on your shoulders. If you leave a wounded man on
the damp ground, in the middle of winter, while you run away, five
miles perhaps, to the next doctor, he may not improbably--as you
then think--be dead before you come back. You don't know the way;
you are heavy yourself, and your boots are very heavy. You must stay
therefore; but as you are no doctor you don't in the least know what
is the amount of the injury. In your great trouble you begin to roar
for assistance; but the woods re-echo your words, and the distant
sound of the huntsman's horn, as he summons his hounds at a check,
only mocks your agony.

But Peregrine had a boy with him. "Get upon that horse," he said at
last; "ride round to Farmer Griggs, and tell them to send somebody
here with a spring cart. He has got a spring cart I know;--and a
mattress in it."

"But I hain't no gude at roiding like," said the boy, looking with
dismay at Orme's big horse.

"Then run; that will be better, for you can go through