"I think his leg's broken," he said. "We'll have to be careful. It'll be easier if I carry him." He lifted Joe gently in his arms and I loved Kim at that moment, because he was quiet and gentle and he seemed to care what became of us.

Squab and I walked beside him while he carried Joe, and I felt triumphant. But when we reached the road I remembered that, as well as being gentry, Kim was also a friend of the St. Larnstons'. He might well have been a member of this afternoon's shooting party; and to these people the preservation of the birds was more important than the lives of people like us.

I said anxiously: "Where are you going?"

"To Dr. Hilliard. He needs immediate attention."

"No," I said in panic.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't you see? He'll ask where we found him. They'll know someone's been in the trap. They'll know. Don't you see?"

"Stealing pheasants," said Kim.

"No ... no. He never stole. He wanted to help the birds. He cares about birds and animals. You can't take him to the doctor. Please ... please... ."

I caught at his coat and looked up at him.

"Where then?" he asked.

"To our cottage. My Granny's as good as a doctor. Then no one will know... ."

He paused and I thought he would ignore my plea. Then he said, "All right. But I think he needs a doctor."

"He needs to be home with me and his Granny."

"You're determined to have your way. It's wrong, though!"

"He's my brother. You know what they would do to him."

"Show me the way," he said; and I led him to the cottage.

Granny was at the door, frightened, wondering what had become of us. While I told her in breathless jerks what had happened, Kim didn't say anything; he carried Joe into our cottage and laid him on the floor where Granny had spread out a blanket. Joe looked very small.

"I think he's broken his leg," said Kim.

Granny nodded.

Together they bound his leg to a stick; it seemed like a dream to see Kim there in our cottage taking orders from Granny. He stood by while she bathed Joe's wounds and rubbed ointment into them.

When she had finished, Kim said: "I still think he ought to see a doctor."

"It's better this way," Granny answered firmly, because I had told her where we had found him.

So Kim shrugged his shoulders and went away.

We watched over Joe all that night, Granny and I, and we knew in the morning that he would live.

We were frightened. Joe lay on his blankets too sick to care; but we cared. Every time we heard a step, we started up in terror, afraid that it was someone come to take Joe.

We talked about it in whispers.

"Granny," I pleaded, "did I do wrong? He was there and he was big and strong, and I thought he would know how to open the trap. I was afraid. Granny, afraid you and I wouldn't get Joe out."

"You did right," Granny Bee soothed me. "A night in the trap would have killed our Joe."

Then we fell into silence, watching Joe, listening for footsteps.

"Granny," I said, "do you think he'll ... ?"

"I couldn't say."

"He seemed kind. Granny. Different from some."

"He did seem kind," agreed Granny.

"But he's a friend of the St. Larnstons', Granny. That day I was in the wall he were there. He mocked like the rest."

Granny nodded.

Footsteps near the cottage. A rap on the door.

Granny and I were there simultaneously.

Mellyora Martin stood smiling at us. She looked very pretty in a mauve and white gingham dress, white stockings and her black, buckled shoes. On her arm she carried a wicker basket which was covered by a white cloth.

"Good afternoon," said Mellyora in her sweet high voice.

Neither Granny nor I answered; we were both too relieved to show anything but our relief.

"I heard," went on Mellyora, "so I brought this along for the invalid."

She held out the wicker basket.

Granny took it and said, "For Joe ... ?"

Mellyora nodded. "I saw Mr. Kimber this morning. He told me how the boy had had an accident climbing a tree. I thought he might like these... ."

Granny said in a voice meeker than I'd ever heard her use before: "Thank 'ee. Miss."

Mellyora smiled. "I hope he will soon be well," she said. "Good afternoon."

We stood at the door watching her as she walked away; then without speaking we carried the basket inside. Under the cloth were eggs, butter, half a roast chicken, and a loaf of homemade bread.

Granny and I looked at each other. Kim wasn't going to tell. We had nothing to fear from the law.

I was silent thinking about my prayer in the woods and how, providentially, it seemed, I had received help. I had snatched the opportunity given; I had taken a great risk; but I had won.

I had rarely felt as happy as I did in that moment; and later when I thought what I owed to Kim, I told myself that I would always remember.

Joe took a long time to recover. He used to lie on his blanket with Squab beside him for hours, doing nothing, saying nothing. He couldn't walk for a long time, and when he began to, we realized that this had made a cripple of him.

He didn't remember very much about the trap; only that terrifying moment when he had walked into it and he had heard it snap, as it crunched his bones. Fortunately, pain had sent him into speedy oblivion. It was no use scolding him, no use telling him it was his fault; he would have done it again if he could.

But he was listless for many weeks and it was only when I brought him a rabbit with an injured foot that he began to cheer up; in looking after the rabbit he regained some of his spirits and during that time it was like having the old Joe back. I could see that I would have to make sure he always had some maimed creature to care for.

The winter came and it was a hard one. Winters were harder inland than they had been on the coast, but, even so, the Cornish winters were usually mild; this year, however, the wind turned from the usual southwest and came from the north and east bringing blizzards with it. The Fedder mine where many of the villagers now worked, was not yielding the tin that it had up till now and there were rumors that it might in a few years become an old scat bal.

Christmas came and there were hampers of food from the Abbas—a custom which they had kept through the centuries—and we were allowed to gather kindling from some parts of the woods. It wasn't like the last Christmas because Joe wasn't able to run about and we had to face the fact that his leg would never be right. Still, the events of that night were too recent for us to complain; we all knew what Joe had narrowly escaped and we weren't likely to forget.

Troubles don't come singly. It must have been in February that Granny took a chill; she was hardly ever ill, so we didn't take much notice during the first few days; and then one night her coughing awakened me and I scrambled down from the talfat to get her some of her own syrup. It soothed her temporarily but it didn't cure the cough and a few nights later I heard her talking and, to my horror, I discovered that she didn't know who I was when I went to her. She kept calling me Pedro.

I was terrified that she was going to die, for she was very ill. I sat beside her all that night and in the morning she stopped being delirious. When she was able to tell me what herbs to brew for her, I felt better. I nursed her for three weeks, on her instructions, and gradually she began to recover. She was able to walk about the cottage but when she went out her cough started again, so I made her stay in. I gathered some herbs for her and made a few of the brews; but there were many which needed her special skill. In any case, not so many people came to ask her advice now. They were getting poorer and so were we. Moreover I heard some of them questioning the power of Granny Bee. She couldn't cure herself, could she? That boy of hers was a cripple, wasn't he, and all he'd done was fall off a tree! It didn't seem as though Granny Bee was so wonderful after all.

Those tasty joints of pork did not come our way. There were no grateful clients now to leave a sack of peas or potatoes on our doorstep. We had to eat sparingly if we wanted to eat twice a day.

We had flour, so I made a kind of manshun in the old cloam oven, and it tasted good. We kept a goat who gave us milk, but we couldn't feed her properly and we got less milk.

One day at breakfast I spoke to Granny of an idea which had come to me during the night.

The three of us were sitting at the table, our bowls before us containing what we called sky blue and sinkers—a dish which was being eaten a great deal that winter. It was made of water with a dash of skim milk which we got cheaply from the farmer, who sold what he didn't need for his pigs; we boiled this and dropped pieces of bread into it. There was a tinge of blue in the liquid and the bread always sank to the bottom of the bowl—hence its name.

"Granny," I said, "I reckon I ought to be bringing something in."

She shook her head, but I saw the look in her eyes. I was nearly thirteen. Whoever heard of a girl in my station, who wasn't Granny Bee's granddaughter, living at lady's leisure? Granny knew that something would have to be done. Joe couldn't help, but I was strong and healthy.

"We'll think about it," she said.

"I have thought."

"What?" she asked.

"What is there?"

That was the question. I could go to Farmer Pengaster and ask if he wanted someone to help in the dairy, with the animals, or in the kitchens. There would be plenty yearning to give their services if he did! Where else? One of the houses of the gentry? I hated the thought. All my pride rose in revolt; but I knew it had to be.