“What is the matter, Pennyweight?”
“Cut m’ wrist, mum, swappin’ the hedge.”
“How careless! I will come and see what wants doing.”
There had been First Aid classes in the village. In fact, Gertrude Canterton had started them. Miss Whiffen and several members of the committee followed her into the garden and surrounded the lad Pennyweight, who looked white and scared.
“Take that dirty sacking away, Pennyweight! Don’t you know such things are full of microbes?”
“It’s bleedin’ so bad, mum.”
“Let me see.”
The lad obeyed her, uncovering his wrist gingerly, his face flinching. The inner swathings of sacking were being soaked with blood from the steady pumping of a half-severed artery.
Miss Whiffen made a little sibilant sound.
“Sssf, sssf—dear, dear!”