"It's all right, honey; be a brave little girl," her father said consolingly. "There's a spring along here somewhere and we can look after that poor little foot. Ah, there it is," he cried, as he caught sight of a big rock behind a stone wall with a seepage of water under it among some trees at one side. "Just sit still a minute—till I rest—and then we'll have a look." He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes to shut out the dizziness with which exhaustion and hunger filled his aching head.
The child watched him anxiously for a moment and then put a soft little hand on his shoulder:
"Are you so tired, Daddy-man?"
"Yes, dear," he answered with a faint smile as he opened his eyes. "I had to catch my breath, but I'm really all right. Now then, we'll call in the hospital corps."
Virgie slipped down and sat on the top of the wall with her foot in her hand, rocking to and fro, but bravely saying nothing until her father's eye caught the look of pain on her pinched face.
"Does it hurt you much, dear?" he asked.
"Yes, sir. It—it hurts like the mischief," answered Virgie in a small voice. "It keeps jumping up and down."
"Little woman, that's too bad," he said with a consoling pat on the head which seemed to take most of the pain away. "But after we bathe it and tie it up it will feel better."
Kneeling beside the spring he took off his campaign hat of felt and dipped it full of clear, cold water.
"Wow!" cried Virgie suddenly in the interval and she slapped her leg with a resounding whack. "There are 'skeeters roun' this place. One of 'em bit me—an old he one. Jiminy!"