"Consider me a colt, a heifer, anything," I said, resignedly. "But I feel as if I had been bled enough."
"I should think so," she replied, shortly. "Now be still; it's lucky that you came to me."
I thought so too, but obedient to her command, I "kept still."
She cut away coat and shirt sleeves; she brought from the kitchen tepid water and towels, and from her own especial closet, soft linen rags. She bathed, she stanched, she bandaged; it proved to be only a flesh wound, but a deep one.
"Now then," she commanded in her crisp way, when all was done, and I had been refreshed with a very large glass of wine, "tell me about this."
"First," I said, "your colt stands shivering yet, no doubt, and all dressed in saddle and bridle, loose in the stable-yard."
"Wait," she said, and hurried from the room.
In a few moments she came back.
"The colt is in his stable, and no harm done," she announced, sitting down opposite me. "How do you feel?"