“Try not to distress yourself,” he said very gently. “I do not see that you are the least to blame—rather the other way, indeed, for bravely entering the ogre’s den,” he laughed a little, evidently taking for granted that I was acquainted with the uncanny reputation of the place, “for your brother’s sake, and—”
Here I interrupted him. I think, I hope, that I am really candid by nature. Unmerited praise is always painful and humiliating to me, as to all honestly-inclined folk.
“Oh!” I exclaimed, “please don’t say that. If you knew—”
Then he interrupted. I think he was terrified of my beginning to cry!
“One thing I do know,” he said, “and that is, what boys are, and the inconceivable hobbles they get themselves and their belongings into. Let us hope your brother is not badly hurt after all. Ah! there he is,” for his quick eyes had discerned Moore’s half-prostrate form even before I had done more than peer about, knowing we must be near him.
“Moore,” I exclaimed, “here we are. I—this gentleman will help us.”
I spoke encouragingly. I was very sorry for him. I was answered by an exclamation of relief.
“O Reggie,” he said, with something like a smothered sob, “I am so thankful. I thought you were never coming.”
“Yes,” said our new friend, who was already on his knees beside the boy, “under such circumstances time does not fly. Let me see! which foot is it? The left? Ah,”—for Moore must have winced even at his careful touch—“yes; a good thing you got the boot off. I am not a doctor—” (as to which fact I had had a slight doubt), “but I think it’s not worse than a sprain. Of course the thing is to get you home at once. You live near here?”
“No,” I began; “yes, I mean. We are staying at the Manor-house, Mr Wynyard’s, in the village.”