A kind thought struck David. He went round to the drawing-room window and tapped at it gently. Ted's mother was writing there. Might he wheel Master Ted in his barrow to the part of the garden where he was working?—he would take good care of him—"the little gentleman never cut himself if I with him—no, indeed; I make him safe enough."
And Ted's mother consented gladly. So in a few minutes he was comfortably installed on a nice heap of dry grass, with Cheviott close beside him and David near at hand.
"You never touch my tools again, Master Ted, for a bit; no, to be sure; do you now?" said David.
"No," said Ted. "Muzzer says I mustn't. But wasn't the big scissors nicely oilened, David?"
"Oh, fust rate—ay," said David. "Though I not say it is a cliver smell—no. I not like the smell, Master Ted."
"Never mind," replied Ted reassuringly. "Ted will ask muzzer for some cock-alone for thoo. Thoo can put some on the scissors."
"What's that, Master Ted?" inquired David, who was not at all above getting information out of his little master.
"Cock-alone," repeated Ted. "Oh, it's somesing that smells very nice. I don't know what it is. I thing it must be skeesed out of f'owers. I'll run and get thoo some now, David, this minute," and he was on the point of clambering to his feet when the stiff feeling of his bandaged leg stopped him. "Oh, I forgot," he exclaimed regretfully.
"Yes indeed, Master Ted. You not walk a great deal to-day, to be sure—no, indeed—for a bit; ay."
Ted lay still for a minute or two. He was gazing up at the sky, which that afternoon was very pure and beautiful.