“Bring in some snow, Ranald,” said the minister's wife; “we will lay some on his head.”
She bathed the hot face and hands with ice-cold water, and then laid a snow compress on the sick man's head, speaking to him in quiet, gentle tones, till he was soothed again to sleep.
When the gray light of the morning came in through the little window, Macdonald woke sane and quiet.
“You are better,” said Mrs. Murray to him.
“Yes,” he said, “I am very well, thank you, except for the pain here.” He pointed to his chest.
“You have been badly hurt, Ranald tells me. How did it happen?”
“Well,” said Macdonald, slowly, “it is very hard to say.”
“Did the tree fall on you?” asked Mrs. Murray.
Macdonald glanced at her quickly, and then answered: “It is very dangerous work with the trees. It is wonderful how quick they will fall.”
“Your face and breast seem very badly bruised and cut.”