“Nonsense, Pennyweight! Miss Ronan, would you mind going in and ringing for the housekeeper? Tell her I want some clean linen, and some hot water and boracic acid.” Miss Whiffen was interested but alarmed. “It’s a cut artery. We ought to compress the brachial artery.” “Isn’t it the femoral?” “No, that’s in the leg. You squeeze the arm just——” “Exactly. Along the inside seam of the sleeve.” “But he has no coat on.” This was a poser. Gertrude Canterton looked annoyed. “Where’s your coat, Pennyweight?” “Down by t’ hedge, mum.” “If he had his coat on we should know just where to compress the artery.” No one noticed Canterton and Lynette till the man and the child were within five yards of the group. “What’s the matter?” The lad faced round sharply, appeared to disentangle himself from the women, and to turn instinctively to Canterton. “Cut m’ wrist, sir, with the swap ’ook.” “We must stop that bleeding.” He pulled out a big bandanna handkerchief, passed it round the lad’s arm, knotted it, and took a folding foot-rule from his pocket. “Hold that just there, Bob.” He made another knot over the rule on the inside of the arm, and then twisted the extemporised tourniquet till the lad winced. “Hurt?” “No, sir.” “That’s stopped it. Gertrude, send one of the maids down to the office and tell Griggs to ride down on his bicycle for Kearton. Feel funny, Bob?” “Just a bit, sir.” “Lie down flat in the shade there. I’ll get you a glass of grog.” Lynette, solemn and sympathetic, had stood watching her father, disassociating herself from her mother and Miss Whiffen, and the members of the committee. “Wasn’t it a good thing I found daddy, Bob?” “It was, miss.” “The old ladies might have let you bleed to death, mightn’t they?” Bob looked sheepish, and Gertrude Canterton called Lynette away. “Go to the nursery, Lynette. It is tea time.” Lynette chose to enter the house by the library window, and, finding old Lady Marchendale sitting there in the arm-chair, put up her face to be kissed. She liked Lady Marchendale because she had pretty white hair, and eyes that twinkled. “Did you see Bob’s bloody hand?” “What, my dear?” “Did you see Bob’s bloody hand?” “I can’t quite hear, dear.” Lynette put her mouth close to Lady Marchendale’s ear, and spoke with emphasis. “Did—you—see—Bob’s—bloody—hand?” “Lynette, you must not use such words!” Gertrude Canterton stood at the open window, and Lady Marchendale was laughing. “What words, mother?” “Such words as ‘bloody.’” “But it was bloody, mother.” “Bless the child, how fresh! Come and give me another kiss, dear.” Lynette gave it with enthusiasm. “I do like your white hair.” “It is not so pretty as yours, my dear. Now, run along. We are very busy.” She watched Lynette go, nodding her head at her and smiling. “I am so sorry, Lady Marchendale. The child is such a little savage.” “I think she’s a pet. You don’t want to make a little prig of her, do you?” “She’s so undisciplined.”