"I am rather sorry to see that you have got a hatchet," said Mrs.
Henry.
"Why, mother?" asked Phonny.
"Because I think it is a dangerous tool. I think it is a very dangerous tool indeed."
"Oh no, mother," said Phonny, "there is no danger."
"You might be holding a piece of wood in your hand," said Mrs. Henry, "and then in trying to chop it with your hatchet, hit your hand instead of the wood. There is great danger when you strike a blow with a sharp instrument."
"Oh no, mother," said Phonny. "There is not any danger. I have had my hatchet a long time and I never have cut myself but once."
"That shows that there is some danger," said his mother. "Besides I knew a boy who was cutting with a hatchet, and it came down through the board that he was cutting, and struck the boy himself, in the knee, and wounded him very badly."
"But I shall be very careful," said Phonny. "I _know_ I shall not cut myself with it."
"I wish," said his mother, "that you would let me have the hatchet to carry in the house and keep it till you grow older."
"Oh no, mother," said Phonny, "we could not get along at all without the hatchet, unless we had an axe, and that would be more dangerous still. But we will be very careful with it."
Mrs. Henry did not appear satisfied with these promises, but she did not urge Phonny any longer to give the hatchet to her. She walked along, seeming, however, not at all at her ease. Phonny showed her his stock of boards and blocks, among which last, was one which he said was to be made into a boat. After looking around at all these things, Mrs. Henry and Malleville went away. Phonny and Stuyvesant remained in the shop.
"I would let her have the hatchet," said Stuyvesant.
"I don"t think there is any danger," said Phonny.
"Nor I," said Stuyvesant.
"Then why would not you keep the hatchet here?" asked Phonny.
"Because, Aunt Henry does not feel easy about it," said Stuyvesant.
"It is not right for us to make her feel uncomfortable."
"But then what shall we do when we want to sharpen stakes?" asked Phonny.
"I don"t know," said Stuyvesant,--thinking. "Perhaps we might burn them sharp in the kitchen fire."
"Hoh!" said Phonny, "that would not do at all."
"It would be better than to make Aunt Henry feel anxious," said Stuyvesant.
"But I don"t think she feels anxious," said Phonny. "She will forget all about it pretty soon. However, if you think it is best, I will carry my hatchet in and give it to her. We can get along very well with the draw shave."
"Well," said Stuyvesant, "I do think it is best; and now I am going to finish mending the wheel-barrow."
"Well," said Phonny, "and I will go and carry the hatchet in to my mother."
Phonny accordingly took the hatchet and went sauntering slowly along out of the shop.
In a few minutes, Stuyvesant heard an outcry in the yard. It sounded like a cry of pain and terror, from Phonny. Stuyvesant threw down his work, and ran out to see what was the matter.
He found Phonny by the woodpile, where he had stopped a moment to chop a stick with his hatchet, and had cut himself. He was down upon the ground, clasping his foot with his hands, and crying out as if in great pain.
"Oh, Stuyvesant," said he. "I have cut my foot. Oh, I have cut my foot, most dreadfully."
"Let me see," said Stuyvesant, and he came to the place. Phonny raised his hands a little, from his foot, so as to let Stuyvesant see, but continued crying, with pain and terror.
"Oh dear me!" said he. "What shall I do?--Oh dear me!"
Stuyvesant looked. All that he could see, however, was a gaping wound in Phonny"s boot, just over the ankle, and something b.l.o.o.d.y beneath.
"I don"t think it is cut much," said Stuyvesant. "Let us go right into the house."
Phonny rose, and leaning upon Stuyvesant"s shoulder, he began to hobble along toward the house, uttering continued cries and lamentations by the way.
"I would not cry," said Stuyvesant. "I would bear it like a hero."
In obedience to this counsel, Phonny abated somewhat the noise that he was making, though he still continued his exclamations and moanings.
Dorothy came to the door to find out what was the matter.
Dorothy was not much alarmed. In fact the more noise a child made when hurt, the less concerned Dorothy always was about it. She knew that when people were dangerously wounded, they were generally still.
"What"s the matter?" said Dorothy.
"He has cut his foot," said Stuyvesant.
"Let me see," said she. So she looked down at Phonny"s ankle.
"I guess he has cut his boot more than his foot," said she. "Let"s pull off his boot."
"Oh dear me!" said Phonny. "Oh, go and call my mother. Oh dear me!"
Dorothy began to pull off Phonny"s boot, while Stuyvesant went to call Phonny"s mother. Mrs. Henry was very much alarmed, when she heard that Phonny had cut himself. She hurried out to him, and seemed to be in great distress and anxiety. She kneeled down before him, while Dorothy held him in her lap, and examined the foot. The cut was a pretty bad one, just above the ankle.
"It is a very bad place for a cut," said she. "Bring me some water."
"I"ll get some," said Stuyvesant.
So Stuyvesant went and got a bowl from a shelf in the kitchen, and poured some water into it, and brought it to Mrs. Henry. Mrs. Henry bathed the wound with the water, and then closing it up as completely as possible, and putting a piece of sticking-plaster across to keep the parts in place, she bound the ankle up with a bandage.
By this time Phonny had become quiet. His mother, when she had finished bandaging the ankle, brought another stocking and put it on, to keep the bandage in its place.
"There!" said she, "that will do. Now the first thing is to get him into the other room."
So Dorothy carried Phonny in, and laid him down upon the sofa in the great sitting-room.
That evening when Beechnut went to the village to get the letters at the post-office, he stopped at the doctor"s on his way, to ask the doctor to call that evening or in the morning at Mrs. Henry"s. The doctor came that evening.