He paused and his grip on the doctor’s arm relaxed as though he were about to faint, but he rallied.
The kindly old doctor said gently, “Sit down Tom.”
He tried to lead Tom away from the bed, but he held on like a bull dog.
The child breathed heavily and moaned.
Tom’s face brightened. “She’s comin’ to, doctor,—thank God!”
The doctor paid no more attention to him and went on with his work as best he could.
Tom laid his tear-stained face close to hers, and murmured soothingly to her as he used to when she was a wee baby in his arms, “There, there, honey, it will be all right now! The doctor’s here, and he ’ll do all he can! And what he can’t do, God will. The doctor ’ll save you. God will save you! He loves you. He loves me. I prayed all night. He heard me. I saw the shinin’ glory of His face! He’s only tryin’ His poor old servant.”
The broken artery was found and tied and the bleeding stopped. When the wound in her head was dressed the doctor turned to Tom, “That wound is bad, but not necessarily fatal.”
“Praise God!”
“Keep the house quiet and don’t let her see a strange face when she regains consciousness,” was his parting injunction.