This was soon done, and a portion of the white cement poured out into a flower-pot.
“Is that good healing stuff, father?” asked Gwyn.
“No, but it will help. Wait a bit, and you’ll see,” said the Colonel; and he once more softly felt the dog’s crushed and splintered legs, shaking his head gravely the while.
“Don’t you think you can save his legs, father?” asked Gwyn.
“I’m very much in doubt, my boy,” said the Colonel, knitting his brows; but dogs have so much healthy life in them, and heal up so rapidly, that we’ll try. Now, then, how long is that boy going to be with those bandages? Oh, here he is.
Gwyn opened the door, and Joe hurried in.
“Hah! that will do,” said the Colonel; and cutting off two pieces a yard long, he thrust them into the watering-pot, soaked them, wrung them out, and then rolled both in the flower-pot amongst the plaster-of-Paris.
Then washing his hands, he took one of the injured legs, laid the broken bones in as good order as he could; and as Gwyn held the bandage ready, the leg was placed in it and bound round and round and drawn tight, the dog not so much as uttering a whimper, while after a few turns, the limp lump seemed to grow firmer. Then the bandaging was continued till all the wet linen was used, when the Colonel well covered the moist material with dry plaster, which was rapidly absorbed; and taking a piece of the dry bandage, thoroughly bound up the limb, threaded the big needle, and sewed the end of the linen firmly, and then the dog was turned right over for the other leg to be attacked.
“Well, he is a good, patient beast,” said Gwyn, proudly. “But you don’t think he’s dying, do you, father?” he added anxiously.
“Speak to him, and try,” said the Colonel.