Paul watched her go up the road between the hedges--a little, quick-stepping figure, and his heart ached for her, that she was thrust forward again into pain and trouble.

And she, tripping so quickly in her anxiety, felt at the back of her her son's heart waiting on her, felt him bearing what part of the burden he could, even supporting her.
And when she was at the hospital, she thought: "It WILL upset that lad when I tell him how bad it is.

I'd better be careful." And when she was trudging home again, she felt he was coming to share her burden.
"Is it bad ?" asked Paul, as soon as she entered the house.
"It's bad enough," she replied.
"What ?" She sighed and sat down, undoing her bonnet-strings.

Her son watched her face as it was lifted, and her small, work-hardened hands fingering at the bow under her chin.
"Well," she answered, "it's not really dangerous, but the nurse says it's a dreadful smash.

You see, a great piece of rock fell on his leg--here--and it's a compound fracture.