“Wounded!” she exclaimed. She took his wrist. It was warm, but still. When she let it go, it dropped against her side of the hole. She stared at him. He had black hair and dark skin like a Chinese person, and still he did not look like a Chinese.
“He must be a Southerner,” she thought. Well, the chief thing was that he was alive.
“You had better come out,” she remarked. “I’ll put some herb plaster on your side.”
The young man muttered something slowly.
“What did you say?” she asked the man. But he did not say it again.
“I am still quite strong,” she decided for a moment. So she reached in and seized him around the waist and pulled him out slowly, panting a good deal. Fortunately, he was a rather little fellow and very light. When she had him on the ground, he seemed to find his feet. He stood shakily and clung to her, and she held him up.
“Now, if you can walk to my house,” she said, “I’ll see if it is still there.”
Then he said something, quite clearly. She listened and could not understand a word of it. She pulled away from him and stared.