“You can!” echoed Dan, staring at his little chum in amazement. “You’d scare to death, kid, here all alone with a dying man. He is likely to go off any minute.”
“Maybe,” faltered Freddy. “But—but I’d stay by him all the same, Dan. I can bathe his head and his hands, and give him water to drink, and say prayers like Brother Bart says we must when people are dying. O Dan, we can’t leave him here to die alone!”
“No, we can’t,” said Dan, heartily. “I’d never think of asking a kid like you to stay. But, with the two dogs on the watch, there’s nothing to fear. And you are doing the real right and plucky thing, for sure. I’ll sail over to Killykinick and see if I can get Jim or Dud off for the nearest doctor, and be back here as quick as I can. And you, kid” (Dan’s tone softened tenderly to his little chum), “don’t scare more than you can help. Stick it out here as best you can.”
Dan was off at the words, and for a moment Freddy felt his heart sink within him. He looked at the broken walls, the gaping roof, the dying man, and his blood chilled at the thought of the long hours before any one could return to him. Standing at the door of the Old Light, his eyes followed Dan’s sturdy figure leaping swiftly through the bramble bush, and now he had reached the boat and put off.
Freddy was left indeed. He gulped down a big lump that rose in his throat, and, with the can of water Dan had freshly filled for him, took his seat at his patient’s side. Rex came up and put a cold nose on his knee, and Freddy’s watch began.
XX.—Little Boy Blue.
Mr. Wirt lay very still. Freddy never remembered seeing any one quite so still before. Even his breathing had grown quiet, and the rise and fall of the broad breast was the only sign of life in the otherwise motionless figure. All around him was very still, too. Freddy could hear the plash of the waves on the beach, the rustle of the wind through the dwarf trees, the whir of wings as some sea bird took its swift flight above the broken roof. But within there was a solemn hush, that to the small watcher seemed quite appalling.
Roy, as the other dog was named on his collar, dozed at his master’s feet. Rex kept his place at Freddy’s side, as if conscious of his responsibilities; and for a time that seemed quite interminable, all were silent. Freddy found himself studying the big man’s pale face with fearsome interest. How very pale it was! And the rough growth of beard that hid mouth and chin made it seem paler still. But the nose was straight and smooth as Freddy’s own. The silver-streaked hair fell in soft waves over a broad handsome brow. And there was a white scar on the left temple, that throbbed with the low breathing. Somehow, that scar held Freddy’s eye. Surely he had seen a V shaped scar like it before, where or when he could not think; perhaps on one of the big football players at St. Andrew’s.
“Ah, if good Brother Tim were only here now!” thought Freddy hopelessly, as the picture of the spotless stretch of infirmary arose before him. The rows of white beds so safe and soft; the kind old face bending over the fevered pillows; Old Top waving his friendly shadow in the sunlit window; the Angelus chiming from the great bell tower; the merry shouts of the ball players on the green below,—all these memories were in dire contrast indeed to the present scene.
If Dan would only come back! But he wouldn’t—he couldn’t—for hours. And maybe this big, strange man might die while he was gone,—die with only a little boy beside him,—a little boy to help him, to pray for him. Freddy’s thoughts grew more and more solemn and awesome. People always prayed by dying beds, he knew. Oh, if Dan would only come with a doctor and perhaps a priest! For Freddy felt that big men who wandered around the world with dogs and guns were likely to need higher spiritual ministrations than a small boy could give. In the meanwhile he would do his best; and, drawing out his silver-mounted rosary, he began to say his beads.