"Gladly, if I can be of service," was the quick reply.
"Rest assured you can. With your assistance I shall be able to avoid the anæsthetic, though these wounds are a ragged mess. The poor little kid must have lain in those traps for hours. Pierre Leduc set them out for wolves. These curious little busybodies fall into surprising adventures. Brubbie will not forget this day for the rest of his life."
Swiftly the doctor performed his work, cleaning the frayed lacerations and stitching with nimble address, while Mary beguiled the boy from his pain by the charm of her caress and the soothing touch of her woman's hand.
"There now, Brubbie!" said the doctor at length. "You are fit. Come, we'll take you to your mother. Miss McClure had better come along and take charge of this most difficult phase of the operation. Will you, Miss McClure?"
"Still at your service, Doctor. But who is Brubbie, as you call him?"
"Brubbie? Why, Brubbie is the young scamp of Pellawa, general town favourite and Nick Ford's baby. Brubbie is an incorrigible little vagrant. I'll warrant his mother hasn't even missed him. This will be some shock to her."
It was a very startled and white-faced woman who gathered the small form to her breast.
"Mummie, Mummie!" was the penitent cry. "Brubbie run away. He step on traps and dey bite him. Brubbie think he will die and cry, cry, cry. But the leddy come and take Brubbie out of the traps and bring him home on the nice horse. Oo, oo!"
He encircled the woman's neck with a strangling hug.
Mary smiled, relieved that the explanation had been made.