Dick saw a glimpse of golden hair and a white
dress in the door. But they were not visible longer than a second.

"Dad, what's the matter?" asked a voice that was still as sweet as
formerly, but now rather small and constrained.

"Bring the antiseptics, cotton, bandages--and things out here. Hurry
now."

Belding fetched a pail of water and a basin from the kitchen. His wife
followed him out, and, upon seeing Dick's hand, was all solicitude.
Then Dick heard light, quick footsteps, but he did not look up.

"Nell, this is Mr. Gale--Dick Gale, who came with the boys last last
night," said Belding. "He's got an awful hand. Got it punching that
greaser Rojas. I want you to dress it.... Gale, this is my
step-daughter, Nell Burton, of whom I spoke. She's some good when
there's somebody sick or hurt. Shove out your fist, my boy, and let
her get at it. Supper's nearly ready."

Dick felt that same strange, quickening heart throb, yet he had never
been cooler in his life. More than anything else in the world he
wanted to look at Nell Burton; however, divining that the situation
might be embarrassing to her, he refrained from looking up. She began
to bathe his injured knuckles. He noted the softness, the deftness of
her touch, and then it seemed her fingers were not quite as steady as
they might have been. Still, in a moment they appeared to become surer
in their work. She had beautiful hands, not too large, though
certainly not small, and they were strong, brown, supple. He observed
next, with stealthy, upward-stealing glance, that she had rolled up her
sleeves, exposing fine, round arms graceful in line. Her skin was
brown--no, it was more gold than brown. It had a wonderful clear tint.
Dick stoically lowered his eyes then, putting off as long as possible
the alluring moment when he was to look into her face. That would be a
fateful moment. He played with a certain strange joy of anticipation.
When, however, she sat down beside him and rested his injured hand in
her lap as she cut bandages, she was so thrillingly near that he
yielded to an irrepressible desire to look up. She had a sweet, fair
face warmly tinted with that same healthy golden-brown sunburn. Her
hair was light gold and abundant, a waving mass. Her eyes were shaded
by long, downcast lashes, yet through them he caught a gleam of blue.

Despite the stir within him, Gale, seeing she was now absorbed in her
task, critically studied her with a