“Could you come and look at Harry’s knee?” he asked in rather a frightened voice. “We think there is something wrong with it.”
Mrs. Leslie lost no time, you may be
sure. And here, sure enough, she found poor Harry lying in excruciating pain, and with a great white swelling on his knee, which her experienced eyes saw at once was no ordinary bruise or sprain.
“My boy!” she cried, “why didn’t you tell me sooner? If I had only known!”
Harry could not help his tears flowing fast now. It had been such a long strain upon him to keep up hour after hour, that it was quite a relief at last to have the very worst fully confessed.
“I thought it would go off, mamma,” he said, “or I would have told. And I was so anxious to be well just now, for the sea; and oh, I can’t move one single step!”
“Don’t cry, dear. We’ll send for the doctor and see what he says. I daresay he will make it better before long. And you mustn’t fret, you know, or you’ll make yourself worse.” So saying, Mrs. Leslie
had the nearest medical man sent for, and the little patient laid neatly and comfortably in bed—as her skilful hands could well do.
Dr. Bell came, and pronounced poor Harry’s a very grave case of what is popularly known as “white swelling,” brought on by the hurt he had received, but chiefly owing to the little boy’s very delicate system. “He must lie quite still for some weeks at least,” said the doctor. “There must be no trying to get up or move about until I give permission.”
Poor Harry! it was indeed a hard and bitter trial, and he did not then know that he would yet be thankful one day for a lesson taught him by this very trouble. But, indeed, we very seldom know such things till the time of trial is long past.