Sweetapple Cove Part 10

"It would perhaps be best for you to leave for a few minutes, Miss Jelliffe," he said. "It won't take long."

But I didn't feel that I could leave, and he began to cut through bandages and dressings. Oh! Aunt Jennie dear! I didn't realize that people could have such dreadful things the matter with them. It made me just a little faint to look at it, and I had to turn away. There was but a slight injury at first, I was told, and it had become awful for lack of proper treatment and care. Dr. Grant, I was also informed by old Sammy, was confronted at first with the horrible problem of either taking fair chances for the man's life by an amputation which would have meant starvation for the family, or of a.s.suming the risk of trying to save that arm upon which the woman and her little ones were depending. Such things must surely try a man's soul, Aunt Jennie. The doctor told me that he had gone out of the house and sat on a rock, to think it over, and had looked at the flakes with their pitiful showing. The kiddies were ravenous and the wife exhausted with care. Then he had stared at the other old house, now abandoned by a family that had been unable to keep body and soul together in the place.

And so he had been compelled to decide upon this great gamble and spent three nights and days in watching, in a ceaseless struggle to save that arm, using every possible means of winning his fight, knowing that the penalty of failure was death. It was no wonder that he looked happy now that he knew he had won.

I suppose that such things happen often, Auntie dear, but we have never seen things like these, and they make an awfully strong impression.

Dr. Grant was working away, looking well pleased, and I handed him a few things he needed.

"That's fine!" he declared, after he had completed a fresh dressing. "You are well enough now to come back with me to the Cove, d.i.c.k, because that arm must be attended to every day and I can't come here so often. You will be able to stand the trip all right and I'll send you back as soon as you are well."

"I sure kin stand anythin' so long as yer says I kin," answered the man.

His eyes were full of a confidence one usually sees only in happy children.

For a few minutes the wife had gone out of the house, and she returned, breathlessly.

"They is all laughin' down ter th' beach," she announced. "They is Frenchy's little bye, all wid' yeller curls, a-playin' wid our laddies, and Sammy Moore he've brung a barrel o' flour, and a box wid pork, and they is more tea and sugar. What d' yer think o' that?"

She was much excited, and looked from her husband to us, nervously, as if fearing to awaken from a dream.

"That ere trader he said I couldn't have no more, afore I sent him a few quintals o' fish," said d.i.c.k, "I don't see how it come."

"You had to have it," said the doctor, just a little bit gruffly. "You can pay me back after you get to work again."

The woman grabbed his arm, and made him wince, and then she returned to the beach again and brought back the box.

"Beggin' yer pardon, ma'am," she said. "Jist set down still fer a minnit.

I kin bile th' kittle now an' you'll be havin' a dish o' tea."

"Thank you ever so much," I answered, as pleasantly as I could. "I don't want to give you so much trouble, and we are going back at once."

The woman looked sorely disappointed.

"It's awful good tea," she pleaded. "Th' kind as comes in yeller packages, and they is sugar too."

I turned to Dr. Grant. A nearly imperceptible smile and nod from him showed me that I had better accept. It was evident that the poor creature could not understand how any one could refuse tea, the only luxury of her hard life.

"I'll change my mind, if you will let me," I said. "I really think I would enjoy it very much."

Then she smiled again, and went up to the little stove, and I followed her. Dr. Grant had gone out for a moment.

"Doctor un' says d.i.c.k goes back wid' un," she said. "He be th' best man in the whole world, ma'am. Says he'll take pay when fis.h.i.+ng gets better.

I mistrust he'll be waitin' a long spell. It must be most twelve dollars, all the things he've brung."

For a moment the prospect of this huge debt sobered her, and a tear ran down her cheek.

"And what about the doctor's pay?" I asked.

"I doesn't know," she answered, helplessly. "It's sure a turrible world."

From this I judge that the financial returns of Dr. Grant's practice must be more than meager. If I had had any money with me I would have given it to this poor creature, but I had no pockets and had never thought of the need of a vanity bag and purse for a visit to Will's Island.

The woman looked out of the door, and saw that the doctor had gone down to the beach and was talking to the men, apparently engaged in making some arrangement at the bottom of the boat whereon to lay his patient.

"I doesn't know what we'll do," she said again, hurriedly. "But there never was a good man the like o' he. You ain't got a man yet, has you, ma'am?"

"No, I'm a spinster yet," I declared, smiling.

"He's sure the best ever was. Mebbe he might go to courtin' you, ma'am, and what a happy woman ye'd be."

I don't think I blushed, Aunt Jennie, or showed any particular embarra.s.sment. I think I simply recognized a tribute of adoration rendered by the poor soul to one who, in her weary, red eyes, deserved nothing less than wors.h.i.+p.

"I am quite sure he is a splendid man," I answered, quietly. "He is also taking care of my father, who broke his leg on the rocks, while salmon-fis.h.i.+ng."

"Oh! I knows yer now," said Mrs. Will. "Sammy he told us how you come in that white steam schooner, wi' bra.s.s s.h.i.+nin' all over."

"Yes," I replied.

She began to stare at me, much interested.

"Sich a bonnie la.s.s ye be! I wisht he'd take a fancy ter ye!" she exclaimed. "Ye'd sure never find a better man nowheres an' ye look as good as he do. I mistrust ye'd make an awful fine woman fer he."

I could only smile again. Fancy my meeting with matchmakers in this rocky desert. The poor thing meant well, of course, and I could make no further answer, for Dr. Grant was returning. He packed all his things away in his bag, and I went over to the fisherman's bed.

"I am so glad that you are getting along so much better," I told him.

"Thank yer kindly, ma'am," he answered. "I'se sure a whole lot better an'

now we has grub too."

You know how sweet the fields are after a storm, Aunt Jennie. Here it also looked as if some dreadful black cloud had lifted, so that the sun shone down again on this desolate place and made it beautiful to the sick man.

Then I had to swallow some strong tea, without milk, which I abhor. I trust I managed it with fort.i.tude. The doctor also had to submit.

"The day is fast approaching when I shall perish from an aggravated case of tea-poisoning," he confided to me. "Everywhere, under penalty of seeing long faces, I am compelled to swallow it in large doses. I lie awake nights seeking vainly for some sort of excuse that will be accepted without breaking hearts."

"I hope that when you feel the symptoms coming you will hasten back to the security of civilization," I told him.

"Even that is open to question," he answered.

And so we brought the poor man home, Aunt Jennie, and I'm beginning to feel dreadfully sleepy, so I'll say _au revoir_.

CHAPTER VII

_From John Grant's Diary_