He proved it by sitting up, and presently by rising and joining with her the group gathered around Phil. For Aunt Becky had now emerged from her cabin and taken charge of affairs. Phil was supported to the bunk house and put to bed by Keller and 'Rastus. It was already plain that he would be none the worse for his adventure after a night's good sleep. Aunt Becky applied to his case the homely remedies she had used before, while the others stood around the bed and helped as best they could. Strangely enough, he was not burned at all. In this he had escaped better than Keller, whose hair and eyebrows and skin were all the worse for singeing. The nester noticed that Phyllis, in handing a bowl of water to Bess, used awkwardly her left hand. The right one, he observed, was held with the palm concealed against the folds of her skirt. Presently Phyllis, her anxiety as to Phil relieved, left Aunt Becky and Bess to care for him, while she went out to make arrangements for disposing of the party until morning. The nester followed her into the night and walked beside her toward the house of the foreman. The darkness was lit up luridly by the shooting flames of the burning house. "The store isn't going to catch fire. That's one good thing," Keller observed, by way of comfort. "Yes." There was a catch in her voice, for all the little treasures of her girlhood, gathered from time to time, were going up in smoke. "You're insured, I reckon?" "Yes." "Well, it might be worse." She thought of the narrow escape Phil had had, and nodded. "You'll have to sleep in the bunk house. Take any of the beds you like. Bess and I will put up at the foreman's," she explained. As is the custom among bachelors who attend to their own domestic affairs, they found the bed just as the foreman had stepped out of it two weeks before. While Keller held the lantern, Phyllis made it up, and again he saw that she was using her right hand very carefully and flinching when it touched the blankets. Putting the lantern down on the table, he walked up to her. "I'll make the bed." She stepped back, with a little laugh. "All right." He made it, then turned to her at once. "I want to see your hand." She gave him the left one, even as he had done on the occasion of their second meeting. He took it, and kept it. "Now the other." "What do you want with it?" "Never mind." He reached down and drew it from the folds of her skirt, where it had again fallen. Very gently he turned it so that the palm was up. Ugly blisters and a red seam showed where she had burned herself. He looked at her without speaking. "It's nothing," she told him, a little hysterically. For an instant her mind flashed back to the time when Buck Weaver had drawn the cactus spines out of that same hand.