"Get some water--quick!" Emmy cried sharply. She drew her handkerchief from her breast as Alf returned with a jugful of water; and, having folded it, she dangled the kerchief in the jug. "Slap it on!" urged Alf. "He can't feel it, you know." So instructed, Emmy first of all turned Pa's head to discover the wound, and saw that her skirt was already slightly stained by the oozing blood. With her wetted handkerchief she gently wiped the blood from Pa's hair. It was still quite moist, and more blood flowed at the touch. That fact made her realise instinctively that the accident, the stages of which had been indicated by Alf's wandering glances, had happened within a few minutes of their arrival. When Alf took the jug and threw some of its contents upon the old man's grey face, splashing her, she made an impatient gesture of protest. "No, no!" she cried. "It's all over _me!_" "Been after his beer, he has," Alf unnecessarily explained. "That's what it is. Got up on the chair, and fell off it, trying to get at it. Bad boy!" As she did not answer, from the irritation caused by nervous apprehensiveness, he soaked his own handkerchief and began to slap it across Pa's face, until the jug was empty. Alf thoughtfully sprinkled the last drops from it so that they fell cascading about Pa. He was turning away to refill the jug, when a notion occurred to him. "Any brandy in the house?" he asked. "Ought to have thought of it before. Pubs are all closed now." "See if there's any ... up there." Emmy pointed vaguely upwards. She was bent over Pa, gently wiping the trickles of water from his ghastly face, caressing with her wet handkerchief the closed eyes and the furrowed brow. Alf climbed upon the chair from which Pa had fallen, and reached his hand round to the back of the high shelf, feeling for whatever was there. With her face upturned, Emmy watched and listened. She heard a very faint clink, as if two small bottles had been knocked together, and then a little dump, as if one of them had fallen over. "Glory!" said Alf, still in the low voice that he had used earlier. "Believe I've got it!" "Got it? Is there any in it?" Emmy at the same instant was asking. Alf was sniffing at the little bottle which he had withdrawn from the cupboard. He then descended carefully from the chair, and held the uncorked bottle under her nose, for a corroborative sniff. It was about half full of brandy. Satisfied, he knelt as before, now trying, however, to force Pa's teeth apart, and rubbing some of the brandy upon the parted lips.