‘And your wrist?’
‘Oh, that’s nothing. I only told you to show you what was the worst,’ said Amy, smiling with recovered playfulness, the most re-assuring of all.
‘What flower was it?’
‘A piece of purple saxifrage. I thought there was no danger, for it did not seem steep at first.’
‘No, it was not your fault. You had better not move just yet; sit still a little while.’
‘O Guy, where are you going?’
‘Only for your sketching tools and my stick. I shall not be gone an instant. Sit still and recover.’
In a few seconds he came back with her basket, and in it a few of the flowers.
‘Oh, I am sorry,’ she said, coming to meet him; ‘I wish I had told you I did not care for them. Why did you?’
‘I did not put myself in any peril about them. I had my trusty staff, you know.’