“I don’t think it is cut much,” said Stuyvesant. “Let us go right into the house.”
Phonny rose, and leaning upon Stuyvesant’s shoulder, he began to hobble along toward the house, uttering continued cries and lamentations by the way.
“I would not cry,” said Stuyvesant. “I would bear it like a hero.”
In obedience to this counsel, Phonny abated somewhat the noise that he was making, though he still continued his exclamations and moanings. Dorothy came to the door to find out what was the matter.
Dorothy was not much alarmed. In fact the more noise a child made when hurt, the less concerned Dorothy always was about it. She knew that when people were dangerously wounded, they were generally still.
“What’s the matter?” said Dorothy.
“He has cut his foot,” said Stuyvesant.
“Let me see,” said she. So she looked down at Phonny’s ankle.
“I guess he has cut his boot more than his foot,” said she. “Let’s pull off his boot.”