“Poor Prince isn’t hurt, is he?” I asked abruptly, without answering him directly.
“No, Mass’ Tom,” eagerly cried out Jake, glad of saying something to me in order to show his sympathy; “he berry well, no scrape um knees or nuffin’, he—”
“There, that will do,” said Doctor Martin, interrupting the flow of the good-natured darkey’s eloquence, “you mustn’t agitate Master Tom now; he’s in a very critical state, and any excitement is bad for him. You’d better go and see after the horses.”
“Me no want agg-agg-tate um, Mass’ Doctor,” pitifully expostulated Jake, almost blubbering at the accusation of his possibly wanting to do me harm, “I’se only glad to hear him ’peak again, dat all;” and he went out of the room quite crest-fallen.
“Oh, doctor!” I cried, but then, all at once, a sort of sick sensation came over me. Dad and Doctor Martin seemed to be waltzing round me, with the furniture and everything else following suit, and I fainted away again, I fancy; although I could hear their whispering voices, as of people who were far away in the distance. Then, there was a blank.
When I next opened my eyes, strange to say, I was in my own little bed at home, with my mother sitting by my side.
I felt very weak, and one of my arms was tied up in bandages, while my other limbs didn’t seem to belong to me; but, at first, I had no recollection of what had happened.
I could not imagine what was the reason for my being laid up like that; and, seeing my mother there, I fancied for the moment that I had overslept myself, as was frequently the case, and that she had come to call me for breakfast.
“Why, mother,” I said, “I’m sorry I’m so late.”
“You’ve been ill, Tom,” she replied soothingly, without referring to my laziness as I expected; “I’m glad, though, you’re recovering at last.”