the basin in her haste, and had to fetch more in a jug.
Peter did not open his eyes again till Mother had tied her handkerchief round his foot, and she and Bobbie had carried him in and laid him on the brown, wooden settle in the dining room. By this time Phyllis was halfway to the Doctor's.
Mother sat by Peter and bathed his foot and talked to him, and Bobbie went out and got tea ready, and put in the kettle.
"It's all I can do," she told herself. "Oh, suppose Peter should die, or be a helpless cripple for life, or have to walk with crutches, or wear a boot with a sole like a log of wood!"
She stood by the back door reflecting on these gloomy possibilities, her eyes fixed on the water-butt.
"I wish I'd never been born," she said, and she said it out loud.
"Why, lawk a mercy, what's that for?" asked a voice, and Perks stood before her with a wooden-twig basket full of green-leaved things and soft, loose earth.
"Oh, it's you," she said. "Peter's hurt his foot with a rake—three great gaping wounds, like soldiers get. And it was partly my fault."
