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48 It looks to me more serious than a sprain. I've taken several courses in first aid. I might make a mess of it, you know; but I fixed up a man's ankle once when I was off in the woods, and it was all right."

"Very well, then," said Edna. "Go ahead and try your luck on mine."

It was dark by this time, and the operation was performed by roaring firelight. The cottage failed to produce a drop of any kind of oil for its lamps, and there wasn't a candle to be found. It was by firelight that Bord Mathewson witnessed Edna Miller's glorious exhibition of endurance, more stirring to him than any skill in athletics that she could have exhibited to him, even in her wildest dreams.

Afterward he had to go outdoors and stand a moment in the face of the buffeting storm to pull himself together. He had been unskillful, awkward, cruelly slow, but she hadn't protested, she hadn't made a whimper beneath his torturing hands. There had been fine little beads of perspiration on the bridge of her nose, the upturned hand which lay across her closed eyes had been tightly clenched, but she had not flinched. The crooked smile just given him, and the savage, "If you're through, for goodness' sake, please go," flung at him without sob or tears, after he had