“Oh! So it's you? I guess you can't do much, doctor, can you? I—I'm done for!” And a spasm of pain crossed the sufferer's face.
“While there is life there is hope,” answered the physician, noncommittally. He recognized at once that Hiram Bodley's condition was critical.
“He'll get over it, won't he?” questioned Joe, quickly.
The doctor did not answer, but turned to do what he could for the hurt man. He felt of his chest and listened to his breathing, and then administered some medicine.
“His ankle is hurt, too,” said Joe.
“Never mind the ankle just now, Joe,” was the soft answer.
There was something in the tone that alarmed the boy and he caught the physician by the arm.
“Doctor, tell me the truth!” he cried. “Is he is he going to die?”
“I am afraid so, my lad. His ribs are crushed and one of them has stuck into his right lung.”
At these words the tears sprang into the boy's eyes and it was all he could do to keep from crying outright. Even though the old hermit had been rough in his ways, Joe thought a good deal of the man.