His tone
reassured her, and she made no remonstrance when he lifted her in
his arms. For a brief moment she lay against him again, and when
he lowered her upon the bank his hand accidentally touched the
soft warmth of her face.
"My specialty is sprains," he said, speaking a little lightly to
raise her spirits for the instant's ordeal through which she must
pass. "I have doctored half a dozen during the last three months.
You must take off your moccasin and your stocking, and I will make
a bandage."
He drew a big handkerchief from his pocket and dipped it in the
water. Then he searched along the shore for a dozen paces, until
he found an Indian willow. With his knife he scraped off a handful
of bark, soaked it in water, crushed it between his hands, and
returned to her. Jeanne's little foot lay naked in the starlight.
"It will hurt just a moment," he said, gently. "But it is the only
cure. To-morrow it will be strong enough for you to stand upon.
Can you bear a little hurt?"
He knelt before her and looked up, scarce daring to touch her foot
before she spoke.
"I may cry," she said.
Her voice fluttered, but it gave him permission. He folded the wet
handkerchief in the form of a bandage, with the willow bark spread
over it.
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