“That’s no matter—no matter at all, matey,” the man hastened to say. “I’ve no money for them doctors.”
“Ha!” coughed Mr. Parlow. “It’s not a matter of dollars—Well, Mandy, if you think you can fix him up all right——”
The nurse was ready with lint and bandages and a dark, pleasant-smelling balsam in a bottle. Carolyn May, who had untackled Prince on the porch, stood by, and watched Miss Amanda’s skilful fingers in wonder.
The old sailor did not even groan, so the child had no idea that the drops of perspiration that gathered on his brow, and which Miss Amanda finally wiped away so tenderly, were called into being by acute suffering.
When the last bandage was adjusted and the injured man’s eyes were closed, Mr. Parlow offered him a wine-glass of a home-made cordial. The sailor gulped it down, and the colour began to return to his cheeks.
“Where was you goin’, anyway?” demanded the carpenter. “This ain’t no good day to be travellin’ in. I don’t see what that child was a-thinkin’ on, to be out playin’ in such weather.”
“Lucky for me she was out,” said the sailor, more vigorously.
“Ya-as, I reckon that’s so,” admitted Mr. Parlow. “But, where was you goin’?”
“Lookin’ for a job, mate,” said the sailor. “There’s them in town that tells me I’d find work at Adams’ camp.”
“Ha! didn’t tell you ’twas ten mile away from here, did they?”