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Her
flannel
petticoat
to-day
was
white
,
but
it
would
be
quite
as
soft
as
a
red
one
.
She
took
it
off
.
"
Oh
,
what
useful
things
flannel
petticoats
are
!
"
she
said
;
"
the
man
who
invented
them
ought
to
have
a
statue
directed
to
him
.
"
And
she
said
it
aloud
,
because
it
seemed
that
any
voice
,
even
her
own
,
would
be
a
comfort
in
that
darkness
.
"
WHAT
ought
to
be
directed
?
Who
to
?
"
asked
the
boy
,
suddenly
and
very
feebly
.
"
Oh
,
"
said
Bobbie
,
"
now
you
're
better
!
Hold
your
teeth
and
do
n't
let
it
hurt
too
much
.
Now
!
"
She
had
folded
the
petticoat
,
and
lifting
his
leg
laid
it
on
the
cushion
of
folded
flannel
.
"
Do
n't
faint
again
,
PLEASE
do
n't
,
"
said
Bobbie
,
as
he
groaned
.
She
hastily
wetted
her
handkerchief
with
milk
and
spread
it
over
the
poor
leg
.
"
Oh
,
that
hurts
,
"
cried
the
boy
,
shrinking
.
"
Oh
--
no
,
it
does
n't
--
it
's
nice
,
really
.
"
"
What
's
your
name
?
"
said
Bobbie
.
"
Jim
.
"
"
Mine
's
Bobbie
.
"
