"'Tisn't my Sandy! Eh, sure enough it be, an' I be huntin' for him high and low. Still, my boy! So!"
He put his foot on the gin, and with a wriggle and a cry, the dog was free. He stopped whining and stood before his master trembling from head to foot. The old man knelt down and with his handkerchief began to bind up the poor torn leg. Charity and Hope watched the proceeding with the greatest interest, Faith shut her eyes tight. She was as white as a sheet, and, like Sandy, trembled from head to foot.
But Charity began to talk, she asked the old man his name.
"'Tis just Timothy Bendall, shepherd to Farmer Cratton, an' I be livin' at that small cottage three fields off. An' who be ye little ladies? Strangers in these parts, I reckon."
Charity told him all about themselves, how they had just come from London and had come over to the wood, in the hopes of finding some adventures.
He smiled at her, only half understanding what she said. And then when poor Sandy's leg was bound up, he took him up in his arms, and bade the children "Good morning."
Charity and Hope began to run on through the wood, but Faith stood still, and Timothy looked at her. He was fond of children, and he saw how white and shaken she was.
"You poor little maid, what be the matter then?"
"Oh, will he get well? Is he going to die? Does his leg still hurt him?"
"Bless yer little heart, he will be right as rain in a day or two. Would ye like to come on to my cottage and sit there for a bit?"