When I burst into Thomas's house he was dozing in his armchair, but the noise woke him and brought his wife in from the garden. "Oh, my God," cried Thomas, as he caught sight of the child; and he tried to rise, but sank again into his seat pale as death, and trembling all over. His wife burst into tears, but immediately swept an old couch clear of some clothes and child's playthings, and there I laid poor Sally, as the old woman called her, half unconscious and still moaning. Rapidly Mrs. Wanless loosened the child's clothes, and as she did so I told them what had occurred. When I described the man who had run over the child, I was startled by a sudden flash of angry scorn, almost of hate, that mantled over the old man's face. He clutched the arms of his chair convulsively, and half rose from his seat as he almost hissed out the words--"By Heaven, the child has been killed by its own father." He seemed to regret the words as soon as uttered, and tried to hide his confusion by eagerly inquiring of his wife if she had found out where Sally was hurt. The effort failed him, however, and he remained visibly embarrassed by my presence. I would have left, but I too was anxious to see where Sarah was hurt, so I turned to the couch to give Thomas time to recover himself. As I did so, Sally screamed. Her grandmother had attempted to draw down her loosened dress, and in doing so had disturbed the child's legs, causing acute pain. I judged at once that a leg was either bruised or broken, and begged Mrs. Wanless to feel gently for the hurt. Almost immediately the child uttered a scream, crying, "Oh, my right leg, my right leg;" and a brief examination proved the fact that it was broken just a little way below the knee. The sobbing of the child unnerved Mrs. Wanless, and she seemed about to faint, so I led her to a seat, gave her a glass of water, and returned to Sarah, turning her carefully flat on her back, and kneeling down, gently removed her stocking from the broken limb, which I then laid straight out on the couch, propping it on either side with such soft articles as I could lay hands on. That done, I told Sarah to lie as still as she could until the doctor came, when he would soon ease her pain. Soothing the child thus, and hardly thinking of the old people, I was suddenly interrupted by Thomas. He had risen from his chair, and, leaning on his staff, had approached the couch. He stood there for a little, looking at his little maiden with an expression of intense pain and sorrow on his face. Then he turned to me, and, without speaking, held out his hand. I rose to my feet, grasped it, and, suddenly bethinking myself for the first time, uncovered my head. The tears gathered in my eyes in spite of myself. I knew in my heart that Thomas Wanless and I were friends.