"O don't touch it—it hurts," Danny wailed, when Pearl examined his grimy little foot, from which a trickle of blood was showing through the murk of prairie soil.
"Just let me wash it, dear," said Pearl soothingly. "We cannot tell how badly you are hurt until we get the dirt off. It may not be so bad at all."
This was the afternoon of the same day.
Danny's tears came in torrents. "It is bad," he sobbed. "It's the worst sliver there's ever been in this family—or maybe in these parts."
"Well now, maybe it is. I wouldn't wonder if we'll have to send for the doctor," said Pearl, "and that will be one on Patsey—he never had a doctor in his life—and maybe never will. Just let me see how serious it is—and I'll promise you if I can't pull it out with my fingers—the doctor will be phoned for at once, and told to hurry."
With this promise to sustain him, Danny bravely submitted to a thoroughly good washing of the afflicted member, and even the cleansing of the other, for Pearl explained to him that feet came in pairs, and had to be treated alike in matters of washing.
But the sliver refused to move, though Pearl appeared to try to pull it out.
"Send for the doctor, Pearl," Danny gasped. "I'm getting weaker every minute, and everything is goin' from me—and now its gettin' dark—can't some of yez light a lamp?"
Danny had heard his mother tell so many times the story of his grandfather's last moments—it came easily to him now, and he revelled in the sensation he was making.
"Rouse yourself, Danny dear," his mother cried tearfully, "speak to us, darlin' and don't let yourself go to sleep—I'm feart it's gone to his heart."