Ned awaited
his return anxiously.
"The doctor says it's a bad fracture, Ned, a very bad fracture,
and the boy must have had his leg curiously twisted under him for
the bone to have snapped in such a way. He questions whether it
will be possible to save the leg; indeed, he would have taken it
off last night, but the boy said he would rather die, and the men
were all against it. By the help of half a dozen men he got the
bones into their places again, and has bandaged the leg up with
splints; but he is very doubtful what will come of it."
Ned was crying now.
"I would give anything if it hadn't happened, father, and he really
seemed a nice fellow. He said over and over again he didn't want
to hurt us, and I am sure he didn't, only he thought he oughtn't
to let us pass, and as we would go on he had to stop us."
"Well, it can't be helped, Ned," his father said kindly. "It is
very natural that you should be grieved about it; but you see it
really was an accident; there was nothing willful or intentional
about it, and you must not take it to heart more than you can help."
But Ned did take it to heart, and for the next fortnight was very
miserable. The doctor's reports during that time were not hopeful.
Fever had set in, and for some days the boy was delirious, and
there was no saying how it would turn out. At the end of that time
the bulletins became somewhat more hopeful.
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