"He's insensible," he said quietly. "A nasty scalp wound, and may be more. What day is this?" "Wednesday." Musk did not know what he was saying, but the cool question had elicited a correct though unconscious reply. "Wednesday used to be the doctor's day at the dispensary----" "And is still," cried Musk, coming to his senses. "Then one of us must run for him." "I can't run!" "Then you must hold him while I do. Stop! I'll take him to the house; you must bathe his head while I'm gone." Another minute and the boy lay in the rectory study, upon the little bed in which Carlton had fought death and won three years before; yet another, and up limped Jasper, crooked with pain, out of breath, but gasping for news of Georgie as though he had been a week on the way. "Has he come to yet?" "No, and there's a lot of blood. We must stop it if we can. Wait till I get a sponge and some water." Jasper Musk was bending over the boy, looking huger than ever upon his knees, when Carlton returned to the room. "What have I done?" he was muttering. "What have I done? What have I done?" "Nothing that you could help," replied Carlton, briskly. "Now you keep squeezing this sponge out over his head--never mind the bed--till I get back." Georgie lay insensible for hours. It was not the loss of blood, which looked much worse than it was, and ceased altogether with the dressing of the wound. There was, however, somewhat serious concussion underneath; and Dr. Marigold bluntly refused to guarantee the event. "The pity is to move him," he grumbled towards night. "But is there anybody here who could nurse the boy?" "Only myself," said Carlton, who had been quiet and quick to help all the afternoon. The doctor shot an upward glance through his shaggy white eyebrows. "Well, you're handy enough, I must say; and, as we know, the very devil to do things single-handed; but this you couldn't do. No, I'd like to take him straight to the infirmary, only I'm on horseback." "There are traps in the village." "They would jolt too much." "Then let me carry him." "It's five miles." "Never mind. I could do it. And he shouldn't jolt--he shouldn't jolt!" The mellow voice that had charmed the countryside in bygone years, it fell and quivered with infinite tenderness and love, and it sped to the heart of the gaunt old doctor. So this time Marigold raised his whole head, and his look was open, prolonged, and penetrating. "No, no, Mr. Carlton," he said at length, and in the tone of old times. "It might do no good, after all. But I'll tell you what you shall do: you shall carry him to the Flint House, and I'll spend the night there if I must." All this while Jasper Musk was sitting stunned and staring in the rector's chair. He had not moved for an hour, nor did he now until Carlton touched him on the shoulder. "We are going, Mr. Musk. I am carrying Georgie to your house." Musk raised a ghastly face. "He isn't dead?" "No." "Nor going to die?"