She laid the splints in position, and bandaged them tightly, forgotten deftness coming back to her. Round and round the firm hands went steadily, until the leg, swathed like a mummy, stuck out stiffly before her. Then she sat back on her heels.
"That's all I can do," she said, finding her lips stiff and dry. The voice was not like her own. "Look carefully, Tom, and tell me if you think it is straight."
"As far as I can see—perfectly," Tom said, peering at the leg.
"I guess it's straight," said the patient cheerfully, "'cause it don't hurt now, hardly a bit. An' it was a fair caution before you touched it. Where'd you learn how, mum?"
But Aileen had no power to answer. She found herself suddenly shuddering, and drenched in perspiration. Tom put his hand on her shoulders, and made her drink a little brandy.
"Oh, I was so afraid!" she whispered, "so dreadfully afraid! Are you sure it's straight?"
"It must be," he said gently, "or he wouldn't be out of pain. Pull yourself together, dear—remember we haven't much time. And he must have the soup."
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "I'm all right, Tom; don't worry. Will you two get him into the buggy while I bring the soup?" She hurried away.
When she came back, with the steaming cup in her hand, the patient was sitting up in the buggy, wearing a wide smile, while Tom strapped the leg to the board above the knee and at the foot. Garth stood sentry-fashion at the horse's head, his eyes shining with excitement.
"By Jove, that's good!" said the broken-legged one, tasting the soup. "And I'd hardly know me ol' laig was broke, I'm that comfortable. You're a great doctor, ain't you now, Mrs. Macleod?"