Presently she heard quick footsteps coming from the direction of the cemetery, and a man appeared in sight. As he reached the prostrate bicycle and the doleful little figure seated beside it, he stopped, exclaiming, "Hullo! What’s to do here? Have you tumbled off, my dear? I wouldn’t sit there, though, it’s so wet." "I can’t get up," poor Patsey faltered; "I’ve hurt my foot; it’s all gone fat and funny, and it does pain so. I can’t stand. Oh, could you? could you—call in at my home on your way back and tell them to send the carriage for me? It would be so very kind of you. Do you think you could——?" The man stooped down and looked at the poor little foot. He touched it gently and shook his head, saying, "It’s rather a bad sprain, I fear; just tell me where you live and I’ll carry you home. Then they can get a doctor and have it fomented and bound. I’d best tie it up now as well as I can, so as not to shake you more than I can help." The man took out a large handkerchief of brilliant yellow silk, and Patsey shuddered. "Oh, please don’t!" she cried. "I mustn’t wear anything yellow, not to-day of all days; it would be so disloyal to daddie. If it must be tied up, please take mine—but I don’t think it need be." As Patsey dragged a damp and dirty little square of once-white cambric from her pocket the man laughed. "That’s no use," he said. "If little Tory ladies go and sprain their ankles just like common folk, they must bear a bandage even if it’s the wrong colour." And without more ado this masterful man bound up the little foot with his gaudy handkerchief very deftly and kindly. "I hope we shan’t meet anybody," said Patsey, when he had lifted her into his arms, having carried the bicycle behind the hedge for safety. "It would be so unkind of me to wear yellow to-day." The man turned and looked sharply at the pale little face so close to his own, and gave a low whistle. "Do you know who I am?" Patsey asked with dignity. "And do you know who _I_ am?" demanded the man. There flashed an illuminating ray of remembrance into Patsey’s mind. She had seen this man before, and he was no other than the "Labour candidate" who had stolen her father’s seat. There was silence for a minute till Patsey said earnestly, "If you know who I am, you need not wonder that I biject to wear anything yellow." Then, for Patsey’s father had taught her that other people have political opinions too, "And perhaps you biject just as much to carrying a little blue girl." The man laughed and held her a little closer as he said, "Far from objecting, I like carrying this little blue girl exceedingly. It’s a long time since I carried any little girl," he added sadly. "Haven’t you any little girls of your own?" she asked curiously. "My little girl lies yonder," said the man, nodding his head in the direction of the cemetery.