“We might leave him until the morning,” Jean said—and there was an answering sound of gratitude from the patient. “After all, I don’t suppose he could be moved to-night, and it’s so hot he might as well be here as—as in gaol,” she finished, dropping her voice.
“I’m—not going—to gaol,” said the patient indistinctly.
“You don’t understand,” said Jean, speaking as one would to a baby. “They’re looking for you everywhere: I’m afraid we can’t hide you. But we won’t say anything to-night, if you’d like to stay here.”
The patient grunted.
“And we’ll bring you food early in the morning,” added Jo, who had been rapidly turning over ways and means in her mind. “Do you think there’s anything wrong with you besides your head and ankle?”
The grunt said “No.”
“Well, we’ll just leave you to-night, and if there’s any way we can help you in the morning, we’ll do it.”
They collected a few armfuls of bracken and put them against the wall of the hut for a bed, helping the lad to move there; Jean bathed his head again, and made a wet bandage for it of his other sock, and they put two full tins of water near him. Then they remembered that they were bringing home a surprise for Rex and Billy in the shape of two slabs of chocolate, and, with some regret, gave him these. He lay with closed eyes, but they felt that he was dimly conscious of all they did. Once he muttered something that sounded like “Thanks.”
They left him at last, and cantered rapidly homewards, conscious that they were very late. No one seemed to mind, however; the breathless heat was sufficient excuse for anything. Even Sarah sat on the kitchen verandah, fanning herself with the milk-skimmer. The twins handed over the mail-bag and ran off to change for tea—not sorry for a chance to discuss their amazing find.
“You know, I don’t see what we really can do,” Jo said. “He couldn’t be hidden down there for more than a few days, even if we could get food to him.”