“Rest, and don’t talk. You’ll be stronger in a bit.” He closed his eyes again and I tried to shield him as much as I could from the jolting. I had already wrapped him up warm in some old sacks that were heaped in a corner of the wagon. So all the way home I held him, counting his every breath, loving him as I had never done before. It was dark when we reached the mill and I laid him gently back and leaped down. “Dad! Dad!” I shouted, running down the yard and into the house; but he was already standing at the head of the stairs, with a candle in his hand. “Modred’s had an accident!” I cried, in a subdued voice--I could not keep the lie back. It seemed so dreadful at the outset to confess and stand aside condemned--while others helped. Jason and Zyp came out on the landing and my father ran down the stairs hurriedly. “What’s that?” he said--“Modred!” “He got caught in the weeds and was nearly drowned, but he’s getting better.” “Where is he?” He seized me by the arm as he spoke, and dragged me to the mill door. I could feel the pulses in his finger tips through my coat. “He’s in a wain outside, and I promised the man a long drink for bringing us home.” “There’s a full bottle in the cupboard--bring it down,” shouted my father to Jason. Then he hurried to the wagon and lifted out the breathing figure and looked into its face. After all, it was his youngest. “Not much harm, perhaps,” said he. “Run and tell them to heat some water and the blankets.” While I was finding old Peg and explaining and giving the order, they carried him upstairs. I did not dare follow them, but, the reaction over, leaned, feeling sick and faint, in the passage outside the little kitchen. Perhaps even now he was telling them, and I dreaded more than I can describe the sentence which a first look at any one of their faces might confirm. Presently old Peg came out to me with a can of boiling water and flung an armful of warm blankets over my shoulder. “There’s for you, Renalt,” she cried in her thin, rusty voice; then muttered, clawing her hips like a monkey: “’Tis flying in the Lord’s face o’ Providence, to me a old woman; like as restoring a froze snake on the hearth.” I had no heart for retort, but sped from the sinister old witch with my burden. I saw Zyp and Jason in the living-room as I passed, but, though they called to me, I ran on and upstairs to the door of Modred’s room, which was next ours. My father came out to my knock and took the things from me. “Now,” said he, “I want nobody here but myself and Dr. Crackenthorpe. Go you and fetch him, if he’s to be found.” Happy to be employed in any useful service, I hurried away on my errand. The door of the sitting-room was shut, at which I was glad. Very little respite gave me fresh lease of hope. The doctor’s home was close by, in a straggling street of old buildings that ran off our end of the High street, and the doctor himself was, I was told, within.