“Humph! dear me!” said the doctor; “bring that lanthorn closer. Very red and inflamed, but that one’s not frost-bitten.”
He held the hand close to the lanthorn, which was lowered by Andrew, and then knocked sidewise, for the lad sprang up sitting.
“Then she wadna chop it off?”
“No, no; lie still!” cried the doctor testily.
“You had better hold him, my lads,” said the captain; and Hamish and Andrew held him down again, bringing forth a fierce growl from Skene, who seemed to feel that if there was a struggle on he ought to be in it.
“Down, Skeny!” said Steve sharply; and the dog uttered an uneasy whine.
“Here, let me see the other hand,” cried the doctor.
“Na, that one’s the waur!” cried Watty excitedly. “She’s nae waur than this or my puir foots.”
“No nonsense,” said the doctor; and he firmly but gently held the boy’s other red and swollen hand to the light of the lanthorn.
“Frost-bitten?” said the captain; but the doctor did not answer save by a grunt.