"Of course I'm coming." She pinned on her hat quickly, throwing her apron into a corner. "I'll be back in a minute."
Running, she found Tom's flask, and mixed some weak brandy and water in it, slipping it into her pocket. Then there was nothing to be done until a "Coo-ee!" told them that the buggy was ready.
Tom lifted the boy very tenderly to the seat, and they drove out, trying vainly to avoid jolting on the rough track. Garth steadied the injured arm with his free hand, and tightened his lips, uttering no sound; but at an especially severe bump he gave a little sigh, and, half-turning, put his face against his mother's shoulder. She put hers down to him, murmuring broken words.
"I wish you'd howl, or something, old son," said Tom miserably. A muffled "Won't!" came from the hidden face. They drove on slowly bumping and jolting.
"Three miles of it!" Aileen thought, in despair.
"He can't stand it!" She pressed the little face closer to her.
They turned out of the paddock and down the lane, winding in and out among the trees. Presently Tom uttered an exclamation of impatience.
"Cattle! What beastly luck!"
Ahead, a small mob of half-grown calves blocked the narrow lane. A tall man on a brown cob came riding some distance behind them. The calves were feeding lazily, and took very little notice of Tom's angry shouts; nor did their driver hurry himself at first. Presently, however, he seemed to awaken to the fact that his property was in the way, and trotted lazily forward.
"I wish to goodness you'd clear your confounded cattle off this track!" Tom sang out wrathfully.