"I suppose it could be mended, but there are hundreds of gulls."
"This one came straight to me. Why, he fairly asked me to take pity on him;" and she drew an eager breath.
She was a very sympathetic little girl, and he smiled.
Some shot had better be taken out. He opened the small blade of his knife. It was not a really fresh wound, for the blood was dry. He picked out the shot, scraped the pieces of bone a trifle, and studied how they were to go together, Pablo holding the body tight. He pulled out some of the downy feathers, pinched the skin together, wound it with threads of soft silk and then bound it up with splints.
"Poor thing," he said.
"Don't you believe he will get over it? Oh, what if he never could fly again."
"Then he will have to live with you."
"Oh, I should like that if he would only be content."
Then they put him in a tub so he could not flounder around much, and laid some bits of meat near him. Pablo was to keep watch so that no evil would happen.
Miss Holmes had hardly mounted a horse since girlhood. She did feel a little timid.