done to a broken limb by letting it swing about," he
said, "than by the fracture itself. Now four of us together. Pass your
hands beneath him, enlace your fingers, and when I give the word, all
lift."

This was done, Pete deposited upon the litter, and secured there by one
of the ropes, after which he was carefully borne to his grandmother's
cottage, where the doctor was already waiting, and the old woman,
tramping about stick in hand, looking as if prepared to attack her
visitors for bringing down mischief upon the head of her grandson.

At last, as the boy was laid upon a mattress, she began to scold at
Uncle Richard, but only to be brought up short by the doctor, who
sternly bade her be silent, and not interrupt him while he examined Pete
and set his arm.

This silenced the poor old woman, who stood back looking on, till the
doctor had finished, and gone away to fetch medicine for his patient.

"Yes," he said, "very bad, and will be worse, for in all probability he
will have a sharp attack of fever, and be delirious when he recovers his
speech. It is really wonderful that he is still alive."

As these words were said, Tom looked back through the open cottage door,
to see Pete lying motionless upon the mattress, and the dog sitting up
beside him, looking down at the still white face.

"Looking at the dog, Tom?" said the Vicar.

"Yes, sir. What a faithful beast it is."

"Splendid," said the Vicar. "And yet I've seen Pete ill-use the poor
brute, and I'm afraid it was half-starved; but it does not seem to
influence the dog's affection for him."

"No, sir, not a bit. There are worse things than dogs, sir."

"Yes, Tom," said the Vicar, tightening his lips, "a great deal."

That night Pete's eyes opened, and he began talking rapidly about
falling trees and sand, and the black darkness; but his grandmother,
worn-out with watching, had fallen asleep, and there was no one to
hearken but the dog, which reached over every now and then to lick his
face or hands.

And at the touch the injured, delirious lad grew calmer, to drop off
into his feverish sleep again, while, when Tom came early the next
morning, it was to meet the doctor coming away.

"Don't go in," he said; "you can do no good; quiet and time are the only
remedies for him.--Ah, good-morning, Mr Maxted."

For the Vicar was up early too, and had come to see after his worst
parishioner.

"Good-morning, doctor. May I go in?"

"Yes, if you will b