He hurried away, followed by his wife. Jot was examining the torn wrist tenderly. Some new, untried strength seemed to spring into the brown, boyish face. It took on the lines of a man"s.
"It"s an artery, Kentie. I know, because the blood leaps up so when the handkerchief is off. It can"t have been bleeding all night. I don"t understand."
"It bled some last night," said Old Tilly, "but I stopped it. I guess I hit it someway just now against the table. It began again worse than ever. Cover it up, can"t you? It"s--all--right!"
"It isn"t all right! Get me a little stick, quick, Kentie! No, that fork"ll do. Hand it here. This bleeding"s got to stop."
It seemed odd that it should be Jot--little, wild, scatter-brained Jot-- who should take the lead in that calm, determined way. What had come to the boy? With pale face and set teeth he quietly bound the handkerchief tightly above the wrist, and, inserting the fork handle in the knot, twisted it about. The bleeding lessened--stopped.
"There! Now, if I keep a good grip on it--oh, I say, Kentie, wasn"t I afraid I couldn"t work it!" he said, breathing hard.
"I don"t see how you did work it! I don"t see how you ever thought of it, Jot Eddy!"
"Well, I did. I read how it was done, up in the consultery. Father may laugh, but I"m going to be a doctor!"
Kent"s face was full of new-born respect. He suddenly remembered that it was Jot who had set "Rover"s broken leg and nursed the little sick calf that father set such store by.
"I guess father won"t laugh." Kent said soberly. Jot was sitting on the edge of the lounge holding the fork in a firm grasp. Old Tilly opened his eyes and nodded approvingly.
"That"s what I tried to do myself with the handkerchief--bind it tight.
It wasn"t very bad at first, but I jerked it or something. I didn"t want you fellows" good time spoiled."
"That"s just like you!" burst out Kent. "You never tell when you get hurt, for fear other folks"ll be bothered."
The little woman crept back into the kitchen and went quietly about her work.
The doctor soon came, and in a brief time the artery was taken up and the hand deftly bandaged.
"Which of you fellows made that tourniquet with the fork?" the doctor asked brusquely.
Kent pointed proudly to Jot.
"Oh, it was you, was it? Well, you did a mighty good thing for your brother there. He"d have lost plenty of blood before I got here if you hadn"t."
The whole of that day and the next night the boys remained at "Jim"s."
The doctor had positively objected to Old Tilly"s going on without a day"s quiet.
And the little woman--the little woman would not hear of anything else but their staying! She had been out to the barn with Jim and seen the blackened corner. After that she hovered over the three boys like a hen over her chickens.
"For--to think, Jim!--it was saving our home he got hurt!" she cried.
The boys talked things over together, and Kent and Jot were for turning about and going straight home. But not so Old Tilly.
"I guess! No, sir; we"ll go right ahead and have our holiday out. It"s great fun cruising round like this!"
"But your hand, Old Tilly--the doctor said--"
"To keep it quiet. He didn"t say to sit down in a rocking-chair and sing it to sleep. I guess if I can"t ride a wheel with one hand, my name isn"t Nathan Eddy!"
"It isn"t"" laughed Kent. "It"s Old Tilly Eddy!"
But in the middle of the night a ghost appeared suddenly over Old Tilly.
The pale moonlight introduced it timidly as Jot, in his white shirt. He sat down on the bed.
"I"m going home," he announced in a whisper. "You other fellows can do as you like. Of course you can ride all right with one hand, if you"re bound to. But I sha"n"t ride with three hands any further from home!
I"m going home! I--I feel as if I must!"
Old Tilly sat up in bed. "You sick, Jotham Eddy?" he cried.
"No--o, not sick--not reg"lar built! But I tell you I"m going home.
It"s no use saying anything--I"ve said it." "I believe you"re sick; you"re keeping something back, Jot."
"Well, what if I am? Didn"t you keep something back yourself, till you fainted away doing it? I"m going--you and Kentie needn"t, of course. I tell you I feel as if I must."
"He"s sick, Kentie," Old Tilly said next morning. "There"s something the matter with him, sure, or he wouldn"t be so set. Don"t you think he LOOKS kind of pale-ish?"
"Pale-ish!" scoffed Kent.
"Well, something"s up. Mother put him in my care, and I"m going to take him home. I"d never forgive myself, and mother"d never forgive me, if anything happened to Jot away from home. I"m sorry on your account, Kentie."
"Oh, go ahead! I"m all right," rejoined Kent, cheerfully. "I"d just as soon. We"ve had a jolly good time of it so far, and we can take the rest of it out in going fishing or camping at home."
"Well, then we"ll go right back home--on Jot"s account. I feet as if I must take him to mother."
Poor Jot! It was hard to be taken home that way, when all the while wasn"t he taking wounded Old Tilly home to mother? It was the only way he had been able to work it out, lying awake and worrying over the torn wrist. Something must be done to get Old Tilly home.
"I told the truth--I said I was keeping something back," thought Jot.
"I said I wasn"t sick, didn"t I? And Old Till"s got to go home. The doctor told me the sooner the better."
But it was a distinct sacrifice to Jot"s pride to be "taken home to mother." He bore it remarkably well because of the love and anxiety in his st.u.r.dy little heart. He would do a good deal for Old Till.
They returned by a more direct route than they had come. On the way, they discussed their adventures. Jot counted them up on his fingers.
"Hand-organs, old churches, little old man"s hay--pshaw! that wasn"t an adventure!" Jot blushed hotly, as if caught in some misdeed.
"No, skip that," Old Tilly said quietly. "That just happened. Begin over again."
"Hand-organs, old churches (two adventures there, you know), picnics, slow races--"
"Skip that!" cried Old Tilly.
"No, sir! Slow races, burning barns, arteries--" "Oh, I say! I"ll do the counting up myself! Besides, you left out the very first adventure, didn"t you?"
"The very first one?"
"Yes, of course--losing all our money before we started!"
"Quits!" cried Jot, laughing. He did not appear sick at all. All the way home he watched Old Tilly with almost professional care. And Old Tilly, unknown to Jot, watched him.