CHAPTER XX
HE CANNOT TALK
"Is he badly hurt?" cried Mr. Cameron, who dared not get down and leave the horses just then.
"Don't tell us he is killed, Ruthie!" wailed Helen, clasping her hands and unable to leave the carriage.
The Gypsy boy lay very still. One arm was bent under him in such a queer position that the girl of the Red Mill knew it must be broken. His olive face was pallid, and there was a little blood on his lips.
She dared not move him. She bent down and put her ear to his chest. His heart was beating—he breathed!
"He's alive!" she said, turning to her friends in the carriage. "But I am afraid he is badly hurt. At least, one arm——"
The youth groaned. Ruth turned toward him with a tender little cry. She thought his eyelids quivered, but they were not opened.
"What will we do with him? He ought to be taken to a hospital. Where's the nearest doctor?" asked Mr. Cameron.
"Lumberton," said Ruth, promptly. "And that is the only place where there is a hospital around here."