This she bandaged with strips torn from her petticoat.

Next she began on the ragged cut left by Slosson's club.
"He's got a right to be dead!" said Cavendish.
"Get the shears, Dick--I must snip away some of his hair." All this while the four half-naked youngest Cavendishes, very still now, stood about the stone hearth in the chill dawn and watched their mother's surgery with a breathless interest.

Only the outcast Henry at the sweep ever and anon lifted his voice between sobs of mingled rage and disappointment, and demanded what was doing.
"Think he is going to die, Polly ?" whispered Cavendish at length.

Their heads, hers very black and glossy, his very blond, were close together as they bent above the injured man.
"I never say a body's going to die until he's dead," said Polly.

"He's still breathing, and a Christian has got to do what they can.