The girl shook her head.
“Inglés.”
“Si, si, Inglés, Inglés. Don’t go. I won’t hurt you.”
“Si, si, Inglés,” said the girl with some animation now.
“Ah, she understands that!” thought Pen; and then aloud, “Help! Wounded!” and he pointed at the open door.
The girl looked at him, then at the door, and then shook her head.
“Can you understand French?” cried Pen eagerly; and the girl shook her head again.
“How stupid to ask like that!” muttered Pen; and then aloud, “Help! Wounded.”
The girl shook her head once more, and then started and struggled slightly as Pen caught her by the arm.
“Don’t fight,” he cried. “Help! help!” And he gesticulated towards the hut as he pointed through the door at the dimly seen bed, while the girl held back at arm’s-length, gazing at him wildly, until a happy thought struck him, for he recalled the words that he had more than once heard used by the villagers while he and his fellows were foraging.