“A good idea!” said Dr Tighe, in his most matter-of-fact tones. “You shall relieve me of half my dressings, by all means, and I’ll turn over to you the out-patient work among these unfortunate women and children. You can leave that dispensing, Babu”--the assistant, who had been listening for the thud of the bullets, started violently--“and go round the wards with the Memsahib.” From his own cases on the opposite side of the improvised wards Dr Tighe glanced across at Georgia several times, remarking with approval that her face and figure were losing their look of utter weariness as she went about her work. She was giving her whole mind to it, that was evident, and for the time her own anxiety was pushed into the background. The number of patients to be treated was considerable, for besides the men who had been wounded at the fight in the Akrab Pass, there were a good many casualties due to the enemy’s fire since the siege had begun. The work was therefore heavy, but as soon as the dressings were finished Dr Tighe bustled up to Georgia and pointed out a new opening for her energies. “The Colonel wants sacks made--millions of ’em--for sand-bags,” he said. “He was at his wits’ end about it this morning, tried to get the native women to sew them, and they wouldn’t.” “Oh, why didn’t he ask us?” cried Georgia. “We would have worked our fingers to the bone.” “I’m sure you would, and it’s likely he’d ask it of you, isn’t it? But why all the refugees should have board and lodging given them free, I don’t know. Why, they wouldn’t even make the sacks for payment! A lot of them said they couldn’t sew, and the rest seemed to think they were being persecuted when they were asked to do it. But you know how to get round them, Mrs North. We can’t very well say that if a woman doesn’t sew a sack a day out she goes--sounds a bit brutal--but you’ll manage to set them to work, I’m sure. I’ll tell Colonel Graham you’ve taken the matter in hand, and he’ll be for ever grateful.”