The sisters must have made a pretty picture, as they sat almost clinging together on the stone: one of Nan's little white hands rested on Laddie's head, the other lay on Phillis's lap. Phillis glanced up from her book, keen-eyed and alert in a moment; she turned her head to look at the stranger that had excited her interest, and then rose to her feet with a little cry of dismay. "Oh, Nan, I am afraid she has hurt herself! She gave such a slip just now. I wonder what has happened? She is leaning against the breakwater, too. Shall we go and ask her if she feels ill or anything?" "You may go," was Nan's answer. Nevertheless, she followed Phillis. Mrs. Cheyne looked up at them a little sharply as they came towards her. Her face was gray and contracted with pain. "I have slipped on a wet stone, and my foot has somehow turned on me," she said, quickly, as Phillis ran up to her. "It was very stupid. I cannot think how it happened; but I have certainly sprained my ankle. It gives me such pain. I cannot move." "Oh, dear, I am so sorry!" returned Phillis, good-naturedly; and, in the most natural manner, she knelt down on the beach, and took the injured foot in her hands. "Yes, I can feel it is swelling dreadfully: we must try and get your boot off before the attempt gets too painful." And she commenced unfastening it with deft fingers. "How am I to walk without my boot?" observed Mrs. Cheyne, a little drily, as she looked down on the girl; but here Nan interposed in her brisk sensible way: "You must not walk; you must not think of such a thing. We will wet our handkerchiefs in the salt water, and bind up your ankle as well as we can; and then one of us will walk over to the White House for assistance. Your servants could easily obtain a wheeled chair." "You knew I lived at the White House, then?" returned Mrs. Cheyne, arching her eyebrows in some surprise; but she offered no opposition to Nan's plan. The removal of the boot had brought on a sensation of faintness, and she sat perfectly still and quiet while the girls swathed the foot in wet bandages. "It is a little easier now," she observed, gratefully. "How neatly you have done it! you must be used to such work. I am really very much obliged to you both for your kindly help; and now I am afraid I must trouble you further if I am ever to reach home." "I will go at once," returned Nan, cheerfully; "but I will leave my sister for fear you should feel faint again: besides, it is so lonely." "Oh, I am used to loneliness!" was the reply, as a bitter expression crossed her face. Phillis, who was still holding the sprained foot in her lap, looked up in her eager way. "I think one gets used to everything; that is a merciful dispensation; but all the same I hope you will not send me away. I dearly like to be useful; and at present my object is to prevent your foot coming into contact with these stones. Are you really in less pain now?--you look dreadfully pale."