"I'm sorry it hurts you, dear," she said, "but it stops the blood when I press this way, and I'm sure that's better for you. The doctor will be here soon, and I think I'd better hold it till he comes."
Lanse nodded again, his brows contracting with pain, not only from the pressure upon the wound, but from the reaction from the blow which had caused it.
Charlotte's eyes watched the clock, her hands never relinquishing their task.
"What next?" she was thinking. "Will the time ever be up and father and mother come back to find us all safe? Three more months--three more months----"
Dr. Andrew Churchill came whistling softly across the lawn, glancing at his watch, and noting that he was fifteen minutes later than he had expected to be. In the doorway of his office he came to a surprised halt.
"Miss Charlotte! What's happened?"
Lanse spoke faintly for himself: "Got hit at the shop--wrench slipped out of man's hands above me--nothing much----"
"No--I see," the doctor answered, surveying the situation.
He lifted Charlotte's cotton rolls, noted the character and extent of the injury, and lost no time in getting at work.
"Keep up that pressure just as you were doing, please, Miss Charlotte, while I make things ready. We'll have you all right in a jiffy, Birch."