she had scarcely seen him with his hat off. How silky and soft it felt!
And she had called him all sorts of mean names, and had wanted Whizzer
to--she shuddered and turned sick at the memory of the thud when they
struck the hard road together.

"Dell!" exclaimed the Old Man, "you're white's a rag. Doggone it, don't
throw up yer hands at yer first case--brace up!"

Chip looked up at her curiously, forgetting the pain long enough to
wonder at her whiteness. Did she have a heart, then, or was it a
feminine trait to turn pale in every emergency? She had not turned
so very white when those kids--he felt inclined to laugh, only for
that cussed foot. Instead he relaxed his vigilance and a groan
slipped out before he knew.

"Just a minute more and I'll ease the pain for you," murmured the girl,
compassionately.

"All right--so long as you--don't--use--the stomach pump," he retorted,
with a miserable makeshift of a laugh.

"What's that?" asked the Old Man, but no one explained.

The Little Doctor was struggling with the lump in her throat that he
should try to joke about it.

Then Weary was back and holding the little, black case out to her.
She seized it eagerly, slipping Chip's head to her knees that she
might use her hands freely. There was no halting over the tiny vials,
for she had decided just what she must do.