“Crushed in the man-engine, father,” said Gwyn.
“Ah, yes, that must have done it. Well, Gwyn, my boy, a doctor would say here in a case like this—‘amputation. I can’t save the limbs.’”
“Oh, father, it is so horrible!”
“Yes, my boy, but you want to save the poor fellow’s life.”
“Can’t anything be done, sir?” said Joe.
“Humph! Well, we might try,” said the Colonel, as he tenderly manipulated the dog’s legs, the animal only whining softly, and seeming to understand that he was being properly treated. “Yes, we will try. Here, Joe Jollivet, go and ask Mrs Pendarve to give you about half-a-dozen yards of linen for a bandage, and bring back a big needle and thick thread.”
“Yes, sir,” and Joe hurried out; but soon poked his head in again. “Don’t get it all done, sir, till I’ve come back. I want to see.”
“Can’t till you come, boy. Off with you. Now, Gwyn, fill the watering-pot. I’ll lift the lid of the tank.”
The pot was filled and the dog placed back again.
“Now fetch that bag of plaster-of-Paris from the tool-house,” said the Colonel.