“Humph! two ribs broken, and also the right leg!” said Dr. Kitchell. “Rather a serious accident. Come, we will carry him into the house.”
Donald was called, and the three succeeded in carrying the unfortunate man into the house and placing him on the lounge in the sitting-room.
Then the man of all work was dispatched to the drug-store, and the doctor went to work to set the broken limb and fix up the fractured ribs. Oliver assisted all he could, the tears standing in his eyes meanwhile.
“Never mind,” said Dr. Kitchell, noticing his grief. “It will be all right. All your father wants is quietness for a couple of months. There is small danger.”
Oliver felt relieved at this statement. And yet he could not help but think of the trip to California. His father would have to abandon that now, and he would hardly be well before they would be obliged to leave the house and seek a home elsewhere.
Towards evening Mr. Bright felt somewhat easier, and he and Oliver had quite a talk. He demurred strongly at being compelled to rest quietly for eight weeks or longer, and spoke of the plans that must now be cast aside.
“Why not let me go?” said Oliver suddenly. “I am sure I can get along all right.”
“No, Oliver; it would be asking too much of you.”
“No, it would not. Can you get along without me?”
“I suppose I might; Mrs. Hanson is a capital nurse. But it is too big an undertaking for a boy.”