an' done all I could t' cheer 'im up, an' that's all the thanks I git
fer it. I must say some folks ain't overburdened with gratitude,
anyhow."

The Little Doctor did not wait to hear her out. She went straight to
the south room, pulling off her gloves on the way. The pillow on the
floor told her an eloquent tale, and she sighed as she picked it up and
patted some shape back into it. Chip stared at her with wide, bright
eyes from the bed.

"I don't suppose Dr. Cecil Granthum would throw pillows at anybody!" he
remarked, sarcastically, as she placed it very gently under his head.

"Perhaps, if the provocation was great enough. What have they been
doing to you?"

"Did Weary say I got bucked off?" he demanded, excitedly.

The Little Doctor was counting his pulse, and waited till she had
finished. It was a high number--much higher than she liked.

"No, Weary didn't. How could he? You didn't, you know. I saw it
all from the bluff, and I know the horse turned over upon you.
It's a wonder you weren't killed outright. Now, don't worry about
it any more--I expect it was the Countess told you that. Weary
hated dreadfully to leave you. I wonder if you know how much he
thinks of you? I didn't, till I saw how he looked when you--here,
drink this, all of it. You've got to sleep, you see."