“Well, well, friend, I will not talk more to you now on the matter,” said Farmer Grey. “Some day you may like to hear more.”
“May be, may be—oh! oh! oh!” Sam Green groaned with pain.
At last the surgeon came, and set Sam’s leg. He shook hands with Farmer Grey. “I wish that we had more like you,” he said to the farmer. “I knew when it was you sent for me, that some one was really hurt. The man will get well, I hope, and his leg will be of good use to him if he keeps quiet and does not fret.” The surgeon said he would call again in the evening, and went away.
“Now, Sam, we will let your wife and family know, that they may come and see you,” said Farmer Grey.
“Much obliged, sir; but I have no wife, and no family, except one daughter; and she is married, and lives with her husband, and has her children to look after, and does not care for me,” said Sam.
“We won’t think that of her,” said the farmer. “I will let her know what has happened to you. May be, you would like to have one of her children with you.”
Sam looked pleased for the first time, and said, “Well, sir, there is a little chap—my grandchild—I should like to have him now and then with me. They call him Paul, Tiny Paul. He is a merry little fellow, and he’d keep me from getting low.”
“Well, we’ll try and send Tiny Paul to you,” said the farmer. “What is your daughter’s name?”
“Susan Dixon, sir,” answered Sam. “Dixon is her husband’s name. He is a decent, hard-working man, and she’s a good wife; but I never cared much for any of them, except Tiny Paul. You’ll send Tiny Paul to me then, sir?”
“Yes, Sam, yes; I have promised that I will,” said Farmer Grey, thinking to himself, “I may win over Sam Green yet. He has a soft part in his heart, and I have found it.”