"What a mess!"
"How did she do it?"
"John Willie, quick, run and get the kettle from the picnic-basket——"
"Indeed, lady dear, it iss noth-thing——"
"Quick, Ray, give me your handkercher too——"
Ynys' foot is bathed in fresh water from the picnic-kettle, and bound up with Mrs. Briggs's tiny lace handkerchief, with Raymond's large one over it to secure it. The blood has already come through before the tying is finished. And you forget the false accents and the elaborate pretences of these "summer things" of Llanyglo's little preliminary piece, and remember only the better things that lie beneath them. They flatter Ynys, and encourage her with admiring words.
"She's a very brave little girl, anyway!"
"What did you say her name was?"
"Ynys."
"Well done, Ynys! Soon be well——"