Ginger, running beside old Sam, thought that he looked haggard and sagged a little at the knees. One of the boys followed them, and with his help she got her aunt to the ground. Mrs. Featherstone did not speak until the boy had led the horse away to the corral, and then, leaning heavily on her niece’s shoulder and breathing hard, she hissed, “If you tell me that you ‘told me so’ I’ll kill you; I’ll kill you with my bare hands.” Ginger bent her head and bit her lips. “Let’s get into the cabin, Aunt Fan.” She was very gentle about helping her. “Now, I’ll get those puttees and shoes off, the first thing! You sit right down--” “Sit down?” said her aunt, with bitter fury. “_Sit down?_ I never expect to sit down again. If you can get my clothes off me standing up, all right. Otherwise, they stay on.” She braced herself against the wall and looked truculently down at the kneeling girl. “Wait a minute,” said Ginger. “Aunt Fan, if you could walk up to the bathhouse and get a hot tub--” “Walk?” said Mrs. Featherstone. “_Walk?_” She looked as if she would enjoy doing her young kinswoman an injury. “I guess you’d better leave everything on; if you can lash me to the wall, some way, I dare say I can sleep standing up; they say the men often did, in the War.” “Oh, do let me get your things off,” Ginger pleaded. “You don’t know how much better you’ll feel!” “No, I don’t,” said her aunt, grimly. She shut her eyes and maintained a brooding silence while her niece dragged off her puttees and shoes and stockings and got her hot and swollen feet into soft knitted slippers. “I can give you a foot bath, one foot at a time, Aunt Fan,” she said, soothingly. “Don’t you worry--I can manage nicely!” She set a basin of water to heating over an alcohol stove and ran back to divest her of her other clothing, and to cold cream the dust from her burning face; sometimes she had to rush into the tiny dressing room and fight down a positive hysteria of mirth, but at last she had the large lady cleansed and in her nightdress and kimono. “And now, if you’ll get into bed, Aunt Fan, I’ll bring your supper!” she said, cheerfully. “I sha’n’t move,” said the sufferer, firmly. “You can bring me food--” “Yes--a little soup, and some hot tea--” said Ginger. “_Food_,” said her aunt, with sudden vigor. “_Added_ to everything else, I’m half starved. Bring--everything you find.”