At this sally the boys laughed, and Edna, covering her blushing face with her hands, burst into tears and went away sobbing. "You ought (sob) you ought (sob) ought to be ashamed. I'll (sob) I'll go (sob—sob—sob) and tell father (sob, etc.)."
Mark felt as if he could have pitched into Jack with increased vigor; but he refrained from any demonstration, and as this last incident broke up the party, went home with a spark in his bosom that was destined to kindle into a flame.
Mark arose early the next morning, and before going to school stopped to see Dr. Wattletop.
The doctor was still abed, for he had been up nearly all the previous night; nevertheless, he rose cheerfully at the call, broken rest having become a second nature to him, drew on a dressing-gown, and went into his consulting-room, where he found Mark waiting.
"Well, my lad, what is it?" inquired the doctor, who was unacquainted with his visitor.
"Doctor, I am lame, and I want you to cure me," said Mark.
"Lame, eh? How long have you been so, and what caused it?"
"Ever since I was a child. I was knocked down by a runaway horse and run over by a wagon. My ankle was broken, I believe."
"Hum—um. Take off your shoe and stocking. Lie down on that sofa, and let me look at your ankle."
Mark did as he was bid, and the doctor drew up a chair and sat down by him to examine the defective joint. The boy's black eyes were fixed with a searching gaze on the doctor's face, as if to read his thoughts, but there was nothing to be derived from the grave, sphinx-like countenance. The eager, inquisitive look of the lad, however, did not escape the physician's notice.