“Thanky, sir,” said Dan, trying not to be gruff, and finding it easier
than he expected.
“Now, the foot! Ach! this is not well. We must have Dr. Firth
to-morrow. Warm water, Jo, and old linen.”
Mr. Bhaer bathed and bound up the wounded foot, while Mrs. Jo
prepared the only empty bed in the house. It was in the little
guest-chamber leading from the parlor, and often used when the
lads were poorly, for it saved Mrs. Jo from running up and down,
and the invalids could see what was going on. When it was ready,
Mr. Bhaer took the boy in his arms, and carried him in, helped him
undress, laid him on the little white bed, and left him with another
hand-shake, and a fatherly “Good-night, my son.”
Dan dropped asleep at once, and slept heavily for several hours;
then his foot began to throb and ache, and he awoke to toss about
uneasily, trying not to groan lest any one should hear him, for he
was a brave lad, and did bear pain like “a little Spartan,” as Mr.
Bhaer called him.
Mrs. Jo had a way of flitting about the house at night, to shut the
windows if the wind grew chilly, to draw mosquito curtains over
Teddy, or look after Tommy, who occasionally walked in his
sleep. The least noise waked her, and as she often heard imaginary
robbers, cats, and conflagrations, the doors stood open all about, so
her quick ear caught the sound of Dan’s little moans, and she was
up in a minute. He was just giving his hot pillow a despairing
thump when a light came glimmering through the hall, and Mrs. Jo
crept in, looking like a droll ghost, with her hair in a great knob on
the top of her head, and a long gray dressing-gown trailing behind
her.
“Are you in pain, Dan?”
“It’s pretty bad; but I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I’m a sort of owl, always flying about at night. Yes, your foot is
like fire; the bandages must be wet again,” and away flapped the
maternal owl for more cooling stuff, and a great mug of ice water.
“Oh, that’s so nice!” sighed Dan, the wet bandages went on again,
and a long draught of water cooled his thirsty throat.
“There, now, sleep your best, and don’t be frightened if you see me
again, for I’ll slip down by and by, and give you another sprinkle.”
As she spoke, Mrs. Jo stooped to turn the pillow and smooth the
bed-clothes, when, to her great surprise, Dan put his arm around
her neck, drew her face down to his, and kissed her, with a broken
“Thank you, ma’am,” which said more than the most eloquent
speech could have done; for the hasty kiss, the muttered words,
meant, “I’m sorry, I will try.” She understood it, accepted the
unspoken confession, and did not spoil it by any token of surprise.
She only remembered that he had no mother, kissed the brown
cheek half hidden on the pillow, as if ashamed of the little touch of
tenderness, and left him, saying, what he long remembered, “You
are my boy now, and if you choose you can make me proud and
glad to say so.”
Once again, just at dawn, she stole down to find him so fast asleep
that he did not wake, and showed no sign of consciousness as she
wet his foot, except that the lines of pain smoothed themselves
away, and left his face quite peaceful.
The day was Sunday, and the house so still that he never waked till
near noon, and, looking round him, saw an eager little face peering
in at the door. He held out his arms, and Teddy tore across the
room to cast himself bodily upon the bed, shouting, “My Danny’s
tum!” as he hugged and wriggled with delight. Mrs. Bhaer
appeared next, bringing breakfast, and never seeming to see how
shamefaced Dan looked at the memory of the little scene last
night. Teddy insisted on giving him his “betfus,” and fed him like a
baby, which, as he was not very hungry, Dan enjoyed very much.
Then came the doctor, and the poor Spartan had a bad time of it,