"Here they are to answer for themselves," he said; and then I saw that the boys and Esther were standing by, with very frightened faces, all plastered with mud and dirt, but evidently none the worse for the accident. "We are all right, darling," said Esther, who was crying, "only alarmed about you." "I am going to hurt you, my poor little girl," said the strange young man, "but you must be brave, and I will make you easier for the journey home." I felt him cutting away my shoe and stocking. It was agony every bit of it, but I endured it, only saying my prayers, as I had seen the peasants do when they suffered. Then I felt him binding my ankle about with something cold and wet, that seemed to relieve me a little; when he had finished, he bent over me again, and I smiled faintly at him. "You are very good to me," I managed to say. "Good to you!" he echoed. "I wish I could save you the horrible suffering I know it is. I hope it is no worse than a bad sprain, but a doctor must see it immediately you get home. But how to get you home, that is the question?" "I'll run to the cross-roads," volunteered Donald, "and bring Larry Brady's ass and cart. The ass will travel as slow as you like, and she can lie full-length in the cart." "Right, my boy! If they can send a feather-bed and pillow, so much the better." Donald was off like a shot. "I hope you have not far to take her," he said, turning to Esther. I saw she was about to tell him, and I darted a warning glance at her which she understood. "Not very far," she said, haltingly. "To Brandon village," he asked, "or one of the farm-houses yonder? I don't think this road leads anywhere else, except to Brandon itself." Now I was vexed at his taking us for peasants or farmers' daughters, though I didn't want him to know we were Brandons. So I took the words out of Esther's mouth. "Yes, to Brandon village," I said, which was true enough, for we had to pass through the village, and some of us would have to explain to Barney the accident to his property. That was worrying me too, for we could ill afford to make up the damage. I closed my eyes after that and said nothing, for the throbbing pain in my ankle made me feel exhausted. Through my closed eyelids I could feel the pity in the kind strange eyes that were watching me. He was so kind that I felt I could forgive him not only for not recognizing us at once as Brandons--which I should have hated him to do--but for having walked with that Pettigrew creature. Evidently she had not told him who we were. Whatever her jibe had been, it had not told him that we were Brandons,--the proudest and most impoverished race within the four seas of Ireland.