Ah! well the thing was out—so much for a girl.
[p57]
“I hardly know that I can, ’tis such a tight fit of a sleeve,” returned the boy, with a reproachful look at Inna.
“Well, it went in, I suppose, and it must come out,” said Mr. Barlow, coming to his side.
“Oh, don’t, sir!” It was pitiful to hear the boy plead thus at the very thought.
“Cut the sleeve,” spoke the decisive doctor.
“Oh don’t, sir, do that!”—it was Mrs. Grant’s turn to plead now—“’tis his best jacket.”
“Yes, and his best arm, being the right; better sacrifice a jacket than an arm”; and Mr. Barlow’s scissors did the work, and laid bare Inna’s surgical dressing.
A nasty burn, but not unskilfully dressed for such young hands, they said; then they dressed it their own way, prescribed a sling for the arm, and a good night’s rest for the boy.
“And, my boy,” said the doctor impressively, “I’ve heard two reports of you in the village, both bad and good; and I will let the good plead with me against the bad this once, and prevail. But remember, one noble deed doesn’t make a life work: there’s the boy’s plodding on, learn-[p58]ing, and doing as you’re bid, and a hundred other things—the very foundation of a good useful life.”
“’Tis such humdrum work,” grumbled Oscar.