"Go and get some cold water," he said, sternly.
She crept away meekly, and presently brought back a little drop in a
broth basin. "That's all there is," she said, apologetically.
It was very little, but with it the big man bathed the child's face
and hands, and dabbed her lips and her brow.
"Go and get a blanket," he ordered. "She oughtn't to be lying on the
cold wet ground so long. She doesn't seem to be coming round."
He felt Huldah's pulse, and laid his hand over her heart. "It _is_
beating," he muttered, in a tone of relief. Then he lifted her on to
the blanket, and wrapped her in it, then bathed her brow again, until
presently a faint quiver of the body and a fluttering sigh showed
that consciousness was returning.
At last Huldah opened her eyes and looked vaguely about her,
wondering where she was. At sight of her aunt and the policeman the
old look of terror came back to her face, and she struggled to sit
up.
"Don't you hurry yourself, now," said the policeman, kindly.
"And don't you be afraid of me. I've come to look after you, and
take you back to your friends."
"You can't," muttered Emma Smith, sullenly. "She's mine.
The child's right enough; they all want a hiding sometimes."
"Sometimes, perhaps, but not constant; and never as you lays it on.
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