“What will uncle say?” continued Whistler. “He cautioned me about the hay-cutter this morning; and father did, too, before I came down here. I thought I was careful, and I don’t see, now, how I did it.”
“Here’s the piece!” said Clinton, as he discovered the missing tip. “It looks as natural as life, doesn’t it? Now, let me put it on, just as it belongs, and then we’ll go in and get mother to do the finger up.”
Clinton carefully pressed the severed parts together, and put a handkerchief over the hand, and they then went into the house. Willie’s appearance, as he entered the room, gave his aunt quite a shock; but she quickly recalled her presence of mind, and, on learning the nature of his injury, took immediate measures for his relief. Clinton, in the meantime, called his father. As his uncle entered, Whistler gave vent to a new outburst of tears; but when Mr. Davenport, instead of alluding to the warning he had given him, or charging him with carelessness, spoke of the danger attending the use of the hay-cutter, and of the frequency of accidents of this kind, Willie’s tears gradually dried up, and he began to regain something of the self-command he had lost. It often happens that the first shock of a misfortune unmans even the bravest of spirits; and we need not wonder, therefore, that Whistler was at first so much affected by what was after all not a very serious accident.
It was thought best to send for the physician at once; and Clinton was despatched for him, in a covered wagon, as the rain was still falling fast. Dr. Hart lived a mile or two from Mr. Davenport’s; and it was nearly an hour before he drove up in his gig. He found his young patient quite calm and cheerful, and received from him a minute account of the accident. He then tenderly unbound the wounded finger, and examined into the extent of the injury.
“This is not going to be a very bad affair, Willie,” said the doctor, after he had completed his examination. “It isn’t near so serious as it would be if you had cut off two or three of your fingers, as I have frequently known boys to do when playing with a hay-cutter. I think the tip will grow on again, and the finger will be about as good as it ever was. It is very fortunate that you did not forget to put the piece on again.”
“I must give Clinton the credit of that; I shouldn’t have thought of it,” said Whistler.
“Suppose the piece shouldn’t grow on, what then?” inquired Clinton.
“Then his finger will always be half an inch short, and it will be rather tender for a time,” replied the doctor. “But I feel quite confident that it will knit together. I shall have to sew it on, to keep it in its place; but that won’t hurt him much.”
The doctor drew from his coat pocket a small case of instruments, at the sight of which little Annie retreated from the room. Clinton soon followed her example, feeling that he had not the nerve to witness the operation. Whistler himself looked rather anxious, but not more so than his uncle and aunt. He promptly obeyed all the directions of the doctor, however; and when the needle was inserted through his flesh, he did not flinch, nor utter a single cry, although the pain sent the tears into his eyes. No resistance being offered, and no time lost in coaxing the patient, the operations of sewing and dressing were performed very quickly and neatly.
“There,” said Dr. Hart, as he applied the last bandage, “you bore that like a hero. There are few men who would behave so well as you did under such an operation. Now, if you take good care of your finger, I have no doubt it will heal up nicely. You must make a baby of it for a while, and treat it very tenderly; if you don’t, it will be likely to let you know it.”