Phil pulled the bandaging as tight as he could bear, clenching his teeth as sharp twinges of pain ran through his ankle and leg. Then he put his shoe-pack on again, lacing it tightly as he could.
Another try at standing proved to be little more successful than the first. He knew that it would be foolish to attempt to walk on it, for that would delay its recovery, and this was a time of all times when he did not want to be laid up.
Phil knew that he had to get home somehow, and yet he was a good ten miles, perhaps a trifle more, from home. How to get there was the question. Then he bethought himself of something.
He dragged himself to where he saw a sturdy sapling with a forked branch on it. Taking his knife, he whittled away laboriously at the bottom until he had cut it down. He had judged what would be the proper distance from his arm pit to the ground, and began to cut there. Then he whittled off the extra branches at the fork, leaving about four inches of each fork projecting. In this way Phil had fashioned a crutch for himself.
Using the crutch and hopping along on his one good foot, he searched until he found a mate for it, and after a few minutes more of work, had a serviceable if not comfortable and handsome pair of crutches. He then tore strips from the bottom of his shirt, and with these padded the forks as well as he could so that they would not chafe his armpits too severely. By this time the rain had stopped, and Phil decided that he would strike out for home immediately.
He had no idea how long it would take him to get home, but judged that it would be several hours, as he would be lucky if he could make two miles an hour with the crutches. After he had gotten the knack of using the crutches, he made better time, and after five miles of laborious and painful walking along the uneven bed of the railroad, he came to a pathway across the tracks that led up over the bank.
Phil decided to investigate this a bit, and getting up on the bank saw that the path widened considerably; at least he figured that it did, since it was too dark to see very plainly. He thought that it might lead to some house, and decided he might as well take enough time to follow it a little distance.
He was glad a few minutes later that he had decided thus, for he saw a light gleaming a few rods away. He hastened his steps, and came to a small cottage.
He banged at the door, which was thrown open, and a man stood there with an oil lamp in his hand. Phil explained the situation to him, saying that he had had a fall and sprained his ankle.
The cottager’s wife had followed her husband to the door, and when she saw the wet, bedraggled looking boy standing there, immediately invited him in, and soon Phil was enjoying the warmth of the fire.