"Yes," said our new friend, who was already on his knees beside the boy, "under such circumstances time does not fly. Let me see! which foot is it? The left? Ah,"--for Moore must have winced even at his careful touch--"yes; a good thing you got the boot off. I am not a doctor--" (as to which fact I had had a slight doubt), "but I think it's not worse than a sprain. Of course the thing is to get you home at once. You live near here?" "No," I began; "yes, I mean. We are staying at the Manor-house, Mr Wynyard's, in the village." He shook his head. "I don't know the neighbourhood at all," he said. "I have only been here two or three times, and only for a few hours together. Is the village--oh yes, I remember--is the Manor-house on the way to the church?" "Yes," I replied, and I went on to explain, as well as I could, whereabouts stood our temporary home. Then a sudden remembrance flashed across me, and I exclaimed impulsively, "Was it not you whom I met a week or two ago out there?" and I nodded towards the road, "You had lost your pocket-book?" "Exactly," he replied; "and you kindly looked for it. One good turn deserves another. I wonder how I can best help you and your brother just now. By-the-bye, my fly must be at the door by this time." He peered at his watch. "I am--I was to catch the London express, if possible." "Oh don't," I began. "It is not of enormous importance if I miss it," he said. "It's about the fly." "Reggie," whispered Moore, "stoop down a moment." I did no, and nodded in agreement. "If," I began again--"the thing is--can we _possibly_ get Moore home without any one knowing about it? About how it happened, I mean? You don't know how perfectly horrible it would be for Mr Wynyard to know. He is very, very particular, and he would make no allowances or excuses." Here I unconsciously clasped my hands in entreaty. "If we were at home," I went on, "I would tell father and mamma all about it. Don't think I want to conceal it from them. But as visitors--and Moore is sure to be laid up here for some time." "I see," said our friend thoughtfully. "It would be rather horrid for you. But--can you propose anything?" "Mr Wynyard and his daughter are away," I replied. "We can't hide the _accident_ of course, but if we could hide that it was _here_. Oh, if we could!" Moore echoed what I said. In his anxiety he sat up, almost forgetting the pain. "If you could get me outside the wall," he said, "and then Reggie could fetch some one--there are cottages not far off--or I wouldn't even mind waiting while you went home," he added, turning to me.