Relief that he was safe was the first thought; then, anxiety
being done with, there was no room for anything but anger. Jim rode
towards him. At the sight of his approach Cecil started a little, and
cast a glance round as if looking for a hiding place; then he came on
doggedly, his head down.
"I've been looking for you," Jim said, controlling his voice with
difficulty. "Where's Bobs?"
"Over there." Cecil jerked his hand backwards.
"Where?"
"Back there."
"What do you mean? did he get away from you?"
"He bolted," Cecil said.
"And threw you?"
Cecil nodded. "Yes--can't you see I'm limping?"
"Well, did he clear out again?"
"No--he's over there."
Jim's face went grim. "Do you mean--you don't mean the pony's HURT?"
"He won't get up," said Cecil, sullenly. "I've tried my best."
For a moment they faced each other, and then Cecil quailed under the
younger boy's look. His eyes fell.
Jim jumped off. "Go on."
"Where?"
"Back to Bobs, of course. Hurry up!"
"I can't go back there," Cecil said, angrily. "I'm limping, and--"
"Do you think your limp matters an atom just now?" Jim said, through
his teeth. "Hurry up."
He followed Cecil, not trusting himself to speak. A dull despair lay on
his heart, and above everything a great wave of pity for the little
sister across the paddock.
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