'Trod on something sharp,' said Dick.
'I should think yer did,' cried the Raven; 'look at yer foot. We must see to this.'
Dick looked, and saw the clear water stained with blood as it swept past his foot. He bent down and looked at the bed of the stream.
'Confound it all,' he said, 'it's the end of a broken bottle I've trodden on. No wonder it warmed me up a bit. Somebody's chucked it into the brook as they passed.'
The boys scrambled to the bank, and there Dick's wound was examined. It was on the outer side of the right heel, not long, but deep, for the broken bottle had thrust a sharp splintered point upwards, and the cut bled very freely. They washed it well in the cold water until the blood ceased to flow, then rubbed plenty of the mutton-fat in, for that was the only kind of ointment they had.
'Quite sure theer's no salt in this?' asked Chippy. ''Cos salt 'ud be dangerous.'
'Quite sure,' replied Dick. 'I boiled it down myself. It's pure fat.'
Chippy looked anxious. 'It's frightful awk'ard a cut in yer foot,' he said. 'How are ye goin' to march, Dick?'
'Oh, I'll march all right,' said Dick. 'I wish, though, it had been my finger, like yours, Chippy.'
The Raven nodded. 'True for you,' he said, 'ye don't ha' to tramp on yer hands.'