“His ribs, ma’am.”
“Oh! I was sure he was hurt!” cried Sydney. “Oh, mamma! go and see.”
Mrs. Evelyn went, but finding that Reeves and Fordham were with John, and that the village doctor, who lived close by the park gates, had been sent for, she went no farther than the door of the patient’s room, and there exchanged a few words with her son. Sydney thought her very hard-hearted, and having been deposited in bed, lay there starting, trembling, and listening, till her brother, according to promise, came down.
“Well, Sydney, what a brave little woman you have shown yourself! John has no words to tell how well you behaved.”
“Oh, never mind that! Tell me about him? Is he not dreadfully hurt?”
“He declares these particular ribs are nothing,” said Fordham, indicating their situation on himself, “and says they laugh at them at the hospital. He wanted Reeves to have sent for Oswald privately, and then meant to have come down to dinner as if nothing had happened.”
“Mr. Oswald does not mean to allow that,” said Miss Evelyn.
“Certainly not; I told him that if he did anything so foolish I should certainly never call him in. Now let me hear about it, Sydney, for he was in rather too much pain to be questioned, and I only heard that you had shown courage and presence of mind.”
The mother and brother might well shudder as they heard how nearly their joy had been turned into mourning. The river was a dangerous one, and to stem the current in full flood had been no slight exploit; still more the recovery of the boy after receiving such a blow from the tree.
“Very nobly done by both,” said Fordham, bending to kiss his sister as she finished.