“Do you know anything of it, sir?” cried the doctor, eyeing the convict keenly.
The man shook his head.
“It’s very strange,” said the doctor, looking at Brookes, who took off his hat, scratched his head, and looked round at the convict, while Nic glanced at Brookes’s boots and then at the poor sandal-like shoes the convict wore, which were evidently a piece of his own work.
“Like me to kill the poor thing out of its misery, sir,” said Brookes, “and take off its skin?”
“No,” said the doctor shortly.
“Won’t be nothin’ the matter with the meat, sir.”
“Nic,” said his father, “jump on the horse and ride home. Ask your mother to give you a roll of bandage, and bring it back here.”
“Yes, father.”
“Why, you ain’t going to bind that ’ere leg up, are ver?” said Brookes.
“Will you be good enough not to interrupt?” said the doctor. “Here, hi, Nic, my boy. Tell Samson to give you a sack and an axe. You can throw the sack across the horse.”