"Now," he said, "come out in front of the lamps, Lydia, till I see what happened to you."
"For heaven's sake, did Lydia get hurt?" screamed Lizzie.
"Don't fuss about me," said Lydia crossly, not offering to follow the other two out of the car.
Billy turned, lifted her down bodily and led her around to the lamps, while he told Lizzie what had happened.
The cut on the scalp was slight. Billy washed it out with water from the brook back of the willows and Lizzie produced a clean pocket handkerchief with which to bind it. Then they went back to the car and ate their belated supper. After a time, Lizzie, who had the back seat to herself, began to snore comfortably.
Little by little, the stars were blotted out by a thin film of clouds. Sitting under the willows with the murmur of the brook and the fragrance of marsh grass enveloping them, the two young people did not talk much.
"Billy, were you scared?" asked Lydia.
"I don't know. I only know I went crazy when I saw you were hurt.
God, Lydia—I couldn't stand that!"
"Billy," whispered Lydia, "you're so good to me and I was so horrid to you once."
Billy felt her fingers on his knee and instantly the thin little hand was enveloped in his warm fist. "Do you take it all back, Lydia?"