“Yes, but false ones will remedy that. I’ll have them made a little uneven so as to look natural; go on.”
“Wall,” continued Ben, “you’ve fixed your teeth, but what are you goin’ to do with your broke nose?”
“Oh!” screamed Isabel, clasping her hand to that organ, which, from its classic shape had been her special pride. “Not broken—is it broken, true?”
“Looks mighty’ like it,” answered Ben, “but law, doctors can do anything. They’ll tinker it up so it will answer to sneeze out of and smell with as good as ever; and they’ll sew up that ugly gash, too, that runs like a Virginny fence from your ear up onto your forehead and part of your cheek. Looks as though there’d been a scar of some kind there before,” and looking closer, Ben saw the mark which the hot iron had made that night when the proud Isabel had given the cruel blow to the blind girl.
This she had heretofore managed to conceal by combing over it her hair, but nothing could hide the seam she knew would always be upon her forehead and cheek.
“Oh, I wish I could die,” she groaned, “if I must be so mutilated.”
“Pshaw! no you don’t,” returned Ben, now acting the part of a consoler. “Your eyes ain’t damaged, nor your hair neither, only singed a little with the stove. There’s some white ones, I see, but they must have been there before. Never used Wood’s brimstony stuff, did you? That’ll keep it from turnin.’ I knew a chap once with a broke nose that looked like the notch in the White Mountains, and nobody thought of it, he was so good. Maybe your’n ain’t so bad. Perhaps it’s only out of jint. The doctor’ll know—here he comes,” and Ben stood back respectfully, while the physician examined the nature and extent of Isabel’s injuries.
There was nothing serious, he said; nothing from which she would not recover. She was only stunned and bruised, besides having a broken ankle. The cut on the face would probably leave a scar, and the nose never be straight again, otherwise she would ere long be as well as ever, but she must of course remain where she was for two or three weeks, and he asked if she had friends with her.
“No,” she said, while Ben said; “Yes, I’m her friend, and though I want to go on the wust way, I’ll stay till her mother comes. We’d better telegraph, I guess.”
This brought the tears from the heartless Isabel, for she appreciated Ben’s kindness in not deserting her, and when again they were alone, she thanked him for so generously staying with her when she heard him say he wished to go on.