“He asked me not to do so.”
“He is a mere boy. You are a man, and ought to have a man’s sense. You had no right to mind what a boy said. It was my right to know, and your duty to tell me. Through your negligence and stupidity my brother has lain here all day—perhaps dying,” she added with a break in her angry voice.
“If you had known—I didn’t know anything was wrong until I saw the volunteers. I have not lost a moment since.”
“I should have known he was missing, without going to the volunteers.”
Renmark was so amazed at the unjust accusation, from a girl whom he had made the mistake of believing to be without a temper of her own, that he knew not what to say. He was, however, to have one more example of inconsistency.
“Why do you stand there doing nothing, now that I have found him?” she demanded.
It was on his tongue to say: “I stand here because you stand there unjustly quarreling with me,” but he did not say it. Renmark was not a ready man, yet he did, for once, the right thing.
“Margaret,” he said sternly, “throw down that fence.”
This curt command, delivered in his most schoolmastery manner, was instantly obeyed. Such a task may seem a formidable one to set to a young woman, but it is a feat easily accomplished in some parts of America. A rail fence lends itself readily to demolition. Margaret tossed a rail to the right, one to the left, and to the right again, until an open gap took the place of that part of the fence. The professor examined the young soldier in the meantime, and found his leg had been broken by a musket ball. He raised him up tenderly in his arms, and was pleased to hear a groan escape his lips. He walked through the open gap and along the road toward the house, bearing the unconscious form of his pupil. Margaret silently kept close to his side, her fingers every now and then unconsciously caressing the damp, curly locks of her brother.
“We shall have to get a doctor?” Her assertion was half an inquiry.