“I think I do, sir,” said the woman, brightly, as she preceded the little party into the cottage, and hastily put a cushion in the dark brown Windsor chair which stood sentry-like by the fire.
Into this the artist was helped.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” he said, with a smile, as he gazed at his rescuers. “Thank you, boys, and you, Drinkwater—very sincerely, one and all. I am grateful. Astonishing how helpless an accident like this makes a man. Now with a cold compress and a rest I ought soon to be all right again.”
“I trust so,” Mr Willows, with a smile, looking down at him; “only don’t be in too much of a hurry to think you are well. It is a case for one remedy, and that is r-e-s-t. How are you going to get to bed? Shall I remain and assist?”
“It’s only up two stairs, sir,” said Mrs Drinkwater, “and my man will help.”
“Of course he will,” said the artist. “I shall be quite all right. Good-night, friends, and a thousand thanks. One day may I be able to do as much for you.”
“I’ll take good care you don’t,” said Willows, with a laugh; and then as they started for home he clapped Will on the shoulder. “Your artist’s a splendid fellow,” he said.