But the effort of speaking brought the tears to her eyes, much to her indignation. For she was brave, and she liked to have the credit of it.
“Let me see,” said he, with kindly authority.
She presented her right hand, from which he drew the glove very gently, disclosing bruised and slightly discolored finger tips.
“They do hurt a little, but it’s nothing very dreadful. I don’t know how I did it,” she said.
“Lucky it’s no worse,” said the stranger, kindly. “Now for the lad.”
The young driver was looking ruefully at the overturned vehicle. He proved to have escaped with no worse damage than a battered hat. Lucy, the maid, who had ascertained that her head was still on her shoulders, had bound up her cut forehead with her handkerchief, and was scolding the driver for his carelessness as she pointed to the scattered luggage. The traces having broken as the cab fell, the horse had sustained very little hurt, so that, on the whole, the accident had been without tragic consequences. The rescuer took hold of the girl, and shook her by the arm.
“Now, don’t you think, considering all things, you might find some better use for your tongue than scolding. You might have been upset a mile away on the road, instead of which you are turned out comfortably at your own door. For, I suppose, you are coming to the Hall?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Lucy, abashed, but still rather mutinous, not having the least idea that she was speaking to a clergyman.
“So that the real sufferer by this spill is neither you nor your mistress, but the poor lad who has driven you safely more than three miles over a very dangerously slippery road, and who will perhaps get discharged by his master for having injured the cab. Your mistress does not scold you for half an hour if you break a plate.”
“Yes she does, sir,” fired up Lucy, so unexpectedly that Mr. Brander involuntarily glanced with surprise at the young lady. “Oh, not Miss Olivia,” added the little maid almost indignantly; “it’s Mrs. Denison I mean.”