“That’s perfectly great,” declared Hartley. “Jo, you are a first-class surgeon. I don’t believe any one could beat that job. I am your eternal debtor.”
“If it isn’t all right, Dr. Paul can make it so,” Jo told him. “Fortunately we have a doctor at hand. I don’t suppose mine is skilled labor at all, but it will serve till something better can be done. It will hurt like the mischief for a while, I suppose, and perhaps we had best get back to the doctor.”
“No one need ever say again that Jo isn’t expert with her needle,” said Mary Lee admiringly. “How did you ever happen to have a needle and thread with you? You of all persons who never sew until you are obliged and compelled to.”
“Why, it was sheer luck. Aunt Kit made me the little housewife and stuck it in the pocket of this skirt; she gave me the skirt, you know, and insisted that it should have a pocket. Well, the little case has stayed just where she put it, for I never bothered to take it out, and fortunately I remembered it at the right moment.”
“If it hadn’t been for your quick wits as well as for your skill very probably I should have lost the top of my finger,” said Hartley gratefully.
There was no more cutting of alpenstocks in this particular spot, but eventually each one of the girls was provided with one and one was cut for Hartley. The Gordon boys, being familiar with steep mountains in their own part of the country, declared they could do without them. Before they reached the foot of the rock Jo was invested with the title of “First Aid to the Injured” given with due ceremony. She was made to kneel down upon the grass; the other girls crossed their alpenstocks over her head while Ran tapped her on the shoulder with a pretended sword. “Rise, Lady Knightess,” he said, and Jo arose amid acclamations and congratulations. The title proving too heavy a one it was shortened to “Aid” before they reached the end of their walk, and this was a favorite nickname from henceforth.
They found Dr. Paul had just returned from taking the twins around the pond and the patient was brought to him. He examined the hurt carefully. “First-rate,” he gave his opinion. “I don’t believe I could have done better myself. Miss Jo, you ought to study medicine, or trained nursing, at least.”
“Oh, dear me,” returned Jo, “what would little Josie do while she was waiting for practice? She couldn’t live on stale pills, and if she devoured the sample bottles of tonic sent her she’d be all the hungrier for real food.”
“But you’d make such a famous trained nurse.”
“Oh, but I never did like striped gowns, and I can’t bear the smell of ether.”