The children were standing before an open tool chest, which Mr. Drake had often forbidden them to meddle with. In the midst of his fright, his anger was excited that they had dared to disobey him, and he called out, in a harsh voice,—
"Boys, how came my tool chest open? Which of you presumed to unlock it?"
Henry and Ernest were both silent. Henry dared not confess the truth, and his cousin, even if he had wished to tell tales, was at that moment too faint to speak. Indeed, just before his uncle reached him, he fell prostrate among the shavings that covered the floor.
"Why! Why! What does this mean?" exclaimed the carpenter, now seriously alarmed.
Then seeing the pool of blood, which had streamed from Ernest's poor, cut fingers, he caught up the child, and stepping over a low wall which separated his own from his sister's grounds, soon laid him pale and unconscious on his own bed.
"We must have the doctor here as soon as we can get him," he said, in an excited tone, "or Ernest's hand will be useless. Henry, what are you gaping round here for? Why, you ought to be half way to the doctor's!"
Mrs. Monroe trembled from head to foot; but, rallying very soon, she proceeded to make an examination of the wound. Though covered with blood, it was easy to see that three fingers of the right hand were cut to the bone; besides a bad gash in the palm.
She washed off the blood as well as she could, and then held the fingers in place, keeping them warm within her own, till the physician arrived.
The cut was so deep, the doctor found it necessary to take a few stitches in each finger, and then, having bandaged them, he gave the boy a soothing powder, and left, promising to call the next day.
All this time his uncle sat by, his face growing hard and stern. As soon as he perceived that Ernest could speak, he began,—