It was night when he came out to Bender and Carter, sprawled on the hay in the stable.
"She'll live," he answered the lumberman's look, "but she must have woman's nursing. Who's to be? Mrs. Flynn?" He shook his head. "A good woman, but—she has her sex's weakness—damned long-tongued."
Bender looked troubled. "There ain't a soul knows it—yet."
The doctor nodded. "Yes, yes, but I doubt whether you can keep it, boys."
"I think," Carter said, slowly, "that if it was rightly put Miss Morrill might—"
"That sweet-faced girl?" The doctor's gray eyes lit with approval, and the cloud swept back from Bender's rugged face.
"If she only would!" the giant stammered, "I'd—" He cast about for a fitting recompense, and finding none worth, finished, "There ain't a damn thing I wouldn't do for her."
The doctor took doubt by the ears. "Well, hitch and let's see."
Realizing that the girl would probably have her fair share of the prejudice, he opened his case very gently an hour later. But he might have saved his diplomacy.
"Of course!" she exclaimed, as soon as she grasped the facts. "Poor little thing! I'll go right over with Mr. Bender.