"Mrs. Barnett is the one person who proves the vulgar error that none of
us is indispensable."
She threw off her shawl, laughing.
"The doctor and I often hunt in couples," she explained.
Her voice was really the most delightful thing you ever heard. I forgot
her clothes, and her big boots, and went up to her, holding out my hand.
"Won't you let me take your shawl?" I asked. "It is sopping wet."
"I had an umbrella when I first came here," she said, "but it blew over
the cliffs long ago. Thanks, ever so much. And now what can I do?"
"You are always on hand when help is needed, Mrs. Barnett," said the
doctor. "Thank you for coming. I shall need you in a minute."
She gave him a quick little friendly nod and went to the bed.
"I hope that you are not suffering too much," she told Daddy. "Dr. Grant
will have you all right in a jiffy."
"Thank you, madam," said Daddy, staring at her.
The doctor had been pulling endless things out of his bag. For all of
their size his hands showed a quality of gentle firmness that was quite
surprising and Daddy, under his ministrations, appeared to become less
apprehensive.
"Now, Mrs. Barnett," directed Dr. Grant. "One hand under the knee, if you
please, and the other should hold the heel. That's the way."
Rapidly he wound some cotton batting about the injured limb. Daddy had
given one awful groan when his leg was pulled straight, but now he
watched the winding of bandages and the application of plaster of Paris
without saying a word.
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