Florence looked puzzled, for though she had poulticed and bandaged her dolls, she had never heard about a compress. However, finding that in plain language it meant cloths wrung out of boiling water, and laid upon the affected part, she set nimbly to work under the vicar’s directions. Boiling water was the first requisite, and calling in the services of the shepherd’s boy, she lighted a fire of sticks in the cottage near by, and soon had the kettle boiling.
Next thing, she looked round for cloths to make the compress. The shepherd’s clean smock hung behind the door, and Florence seized it with delight, for it was the very thing.
“If I tear it up, mamma will give Roger another,” she reasoned, and, at an approving nod from the vicar, tore the smock into suitable lengths for fomentation. Then going back to the place where the dog lay, accompanied by the boy carrying the kettle and a basin, Florence Nightingale set to work to give “first aid to the wounded.” Cap offered no resistance—he had a wise confidence in his nurse—and as she applied the fomentations the swelling began to go down, and the pain grew less.
Florence was resolved to do her work thoroughly, and a messenger having been despatched to allay her parents’ anxiety at her prolonged absence, she remained for several hours in attendance on her patient.
In the evening old Roger came slowly and sorrowfully towards the shed, carrying the fatal rope, but no sooner did he put his head in at the door than Cap greeted him with a whine of pleasure and tried to come towards him.
“Deary me, missy,” said the old shepherd in astonishment, “why, you have been doing wonders. I never thought to see the poor dog greet me again.”
“Yes, doesn’t he look better?” said the youthful nurse with pardonable pride. “You can throw away that rope now, and help me to make compresses.”
“That I will, missy,” said Roger, and stooping down beside Florence and Cap, he was initiated into the mysteries.
“Yes,” said the vicar, “Miss Florence is quite right, Roger—your dog will soon be able to walk again if you give it a little rest and care.”
“I am sure I can’t thank your reverence and the young lady enough,” replied the shepherd, quite overcome at the sight of his faithful dog’s look of content and the thought that he would not lose him after all; “and you may be sure, sir, I will carry out the instructions.”