d fetch me arterwards; only don't forget where I am, and not find me.
Look! There's two o' them birds coming to see what's the matter."

"I can't leave you, Jem. You're of more consequence to me than all the
New Zealanders in the place."

"Am I, Mas' Don? Come, that's kindly spoke of you. But bother that
tree! Might ha' behaved as well to me as t'other did to you."

"Where do you feel in pain, Jem?"

"Where? It's one big solid slapping pain all over me, but it's worst
where there's a big thorn stuck in my arm."

"Let me see."

"No; wait a bit. I don't mean to be left alone out here if I can help
it. Now, Mas' Don, you lift that there left leg, and see if it's
broke."

Don raised it tenderly, and replaced it gently.

"I don't think it's broken, Jem."

"Arn't it? Well, it feels like it. P'r'aps it's t'other one. Try."

Don raised and replaced Jem's right leg.

"That isn't broken either, Jem."

"P'r'aps they're only crushed. Try my arms, my lad."

These were tried in turn, and laid down.

"No, Jem."

"Seems stoopid," said Jem. "I thought I was broke all over. It must be
my back, and when a man's back's broke, he feels it all over. Here,
lend us a hand, my lad; and I'll try and walk. Soon see whether a man's
back's broke."

Don offered his arm, and Jem, after a good deal of grunting and
groaning, rose to his feet, gave himself a wrench, and then stamped with
first one leg and then with the other.

"Why, I seems all right, Mas' Don," he said, eagerly.

"Yes, Jem."

"Think it's my ribs? I've heared say that a man don't always know when
his ribs is broke."

"Do you feel as if they were, Jem?"

"Oh, yes; just exactly. All down one side, and up the other."

"Could you manage to walk as far as the village? I don't like to leave
you."

"Oh, yes; I think I can walk. Anyhow I'm going to try. I say, if you
hear me squeak or crack anywhere, you'll stop me, won't you?"

"Of course."

"Come on then, and let's get there. Oh, crumpets! What a pain."

"Lean on me."

"No; I'm going to lean on myself," said Jem, stoutly. "I'm pretty sure
I arn't broke, Mas' Don; but feel just as if I was cracked all over like
an old pot, and that's werry bad, you know, arn't it? Now then, which
way is it?"

"This way, Jem, to the right of the mountain."

"Ah, I suppose you're right, Mas' Don. I say, I can walk."

"Does it hurt you very much?"

"Oh, yes; it hurts me horrid. But I say, Mas' D