“I’m not hurt except for this cut on my head.  And I guess I’m scared and bruised from being stepped on.  That’s all.”

“All!  To think of me not scratched and you hurt!  Your father ought to horsewhip me!”

“You saved me from being trampled to death!” cried Lydia, indignantly.  “Oh there’s the auto.”

There it was, indeed, with old Lizzie standing in the tonneau, wringing her hands, and Amos and Levine, dust covered and disheveled, guarding the car with clubs.

They all shouted with relief when they saw the two.  Lydia by now had wiped the blood from her face.

“Billy,” cried Levine, “could you run the car and the two women down the road while Amos and I help the Agent get order here?  The worst seems to be over, for some reason.”

“Billy got Charlie Jackson to call the Indians in,” said Lydia.

“Good work!” exclaimed Amos.  “Are you both all right?”

“Yes,” answered Lydia.  “Go on!  Billy’ll take care of us.”

“I’ll wait for you at the willows, a mile below Last Chance,” said Billy.

“Land,” said Lizzie, as the car swung through the hurrying whites, to the road.  “About one picnic a lifetime like this, would do me!”

Billy was an indifferent chauffeur but he reached the willows without mishap.

“Now,” he said, “come out in front of the lamps, Lydia, till I see what happened to you.”

“For heaven’s sake, did Lydia get hurt?” screamed Lizzie.

“Don’t fuss about me,” said Lydia crossly, not offering to follow the other two out of the car.

Billy turned, lifted her down bodily and led her around to the lamps, while he told Lizzie what had happened.

The cut on the scalp was slight.  Billy washed it out with water from the brook back of the willows and Lizzie produced a clean pocket handkerchief with which to bind it.  Then they went back to the car and ate their belated supper.  After a time, Lizzie, who had the back seat to herself, began to snore comfortably.

Little by little, the stars were blotted out by a thin film of clouds.  Sitting under the willows with the murmur of the brook and the fragrance of marsh grass enveloping them, the two young people did not talk much.

“Billy, were you scared?” asked Lydia.

“I don’t know.  I only know I went crazy when I saw you were hurt.  God, Lydia—­I couldn’t stand that!”

“Billy,” whispered Lydia, “you’re so good to me and I was so horrid to you once.”

Billy felt her fingers on his knee and instantly the thin little hand was enveloped in his warm fist.  “Do you take it all back, Lydia?”

“Well, the horrid part of it, I do,” she hedged.

“That’s all right,” returned the young man.  “I’m willing to fight for the rest of it.  Don’t try to pull your hand away, because I intend to hold it till the folks come.  You can’t help yourself, so you have no responsibility in the matter.”