"Well, it was just a silly little accident with a pistol," he acknowledged with much embarrassment. "It--it won't be anything after it's washed off. It feels all right enough and I wish you wouldn't bother about it. I'll attend to it after I get home. It--it's stopped hurting now." But he was compelled to submit to the washing of his injury and to the application of some sort of a dressing which Mrs. Papineau appeared to put on rather skilfully. Wounds of all sorts are but too common in the wilderness, unfortunately, and doctors few and far between. The children had crowded around him, looking in awe, and their mother kept ordering them away. Madge had risen from her seat and looked at the injury, horrified and trembling. The man had never said a word when that bullet had found its billet in his shoulder, and yet it must have hurt him dreadfully. He--he might have been killed, owing to her clumsiness, she reflected in consternation. And now he said nothing to explain how it had happened--he actually seemed to be trying to shield her. "I--I'm dreadfully sorry," said the girl, impulsively. "It--it was all my fault, because I let the revolver fall and it went off. But I didn't know he was hurt. He never told me, and he insisted on pulling at that sled, with his dog." "Yes, it was just a little accident," admitted Hugo, "and we're making altogether too much fuss about it. It really doesn't amount to anything, Miss Nelson, and it feels splendidly now. I'm ever so much obliged to you, Mrs. Papineau. And so I'll say good-night. I hope you'll rest well, Miss Nelson. I'll be here in good time to-morrow, never fear."