"are you possessed by the furies? Take care how you aim, or you will surely do mischief."
Even as she spoke, several of the gay youths dropped to the bottom of the boat, apparently wounded. Their companions pushed for the shore; and Goldilocks almost flew, to pour into the red wounds her brother had made the smooth healing oil from her flask.
"Poor dears," said she, pitying their pain, "I have done my best; and, see! these ugly gashes are almost healed. I cannot promise you, though, that they will not leave scars."
The youths thanked the sweet girl, and assured her it was almost a pleasure to be wounded, if one might be nursed by such gentle hands as hers. But as for Despard, it was hardly strange that they should look upon the poor boy as a wicked little highwayman; or, at best, a saucy, careless fellow.
