"We had better go there to wait.

Have you anything along--oil, flour, anything to use on burns?
You're burned.
It hurts me to see a woman suffer." "Are not you burned too ?" "Yes." "It pains you ?" "Oh, yes, of course." He rose and led the way over the damper ground to the wagon, which stood smoke-stained but not charred, thanks to his own resourcefulness.
Molly climbed up to the seat, and rummaging about found a jar of butter, a handful of flour.
"Come up on the seat," said she.

"This is better medicine than nothing." He climbed up and sat beside her.

She frowned again as she now saw how badly scorched his hands were, his neck, his face.

His eyebrows, caught by one wisp of flame, were rolled up at the ends, whitened.