when berty came to herself, she was lying on a bed, and the strange gentleman was bending over her, with a very anxious expression upon his pleasant face. her first impulse was to try running away once more, but she found she had not strength enough to lift her head from the pillow. then she became conscious that there was a bandage round her temples, and that a kind-looking lady was beside the gentleman, helping him to unfasten her dress. “they’ll find the pocket-book now,” thought she, and she tried to put up her hands to shield it; but the right one was strangely powerless, and the left one the gentleman held in his, while he felt her pulse. when the lady came to the pocket-book, which she presently did to berty’s great distress,[pg 87] she took it in her hand, and squeezing it a little, handed it to the gentleman, saying, “i don’t know what it is.” it was no wonder she did not know, for berty had wrapped it carefully in several papers, and tied it with a piece of string before she left home that morning.
“never mind,” said the gentleman, passing it to tim, who, berty now saw for the first time, was standing at the foot of the bed. “never mind, madam; only make haste, and cut the sleeve from the right arm there. i suspect it is broken.”
berty thought it very strange that the gentleman should not know his own pocket-book when he held it in his hand; but she was so frightened at the thought of her broken arm that she could scarcely feel relieved at her escape. the sleeve was soon cut away, and the gentleman lifted the wounded arm gently, and felt it tenderly here and there. the pain caused by the motion was so great that berty could scarcely help crying out with it; but she made a great effort, and kept still.
“yes,” said dr. john at length,—of course[pg 88] my young readers have guessed that dr. john and the strange gentleman were one and the same person,—“yes, it is as i feared: the shoulder is dislocated, and the forearm broken.”
tim gave a pitying exclamation, and berty a little frightened cry.
“don’t be alarmed, my dear,” said the doctor. “it is not so very bad. if you are only brave and patient, we can put it all right again directly; and after that we shall take such good care of you that you will be quite sorry when you are well enough to go away. all our little people are sorry when their time comes to leave us; are they not, mrs. gantz?”
“but the children,” cried berty, in dismay,—“what will become of the children?”
“sure, ye know i’ll not let them suffer, berty,” said tim. “never you worry for them.”
“yes, we’ll take care of the children,” said the doctor. “never fear for them. now, berty, see how still you can lie; and you, madam, keep hold of this hand while i feel of that poor shoulder again;” and, with a single dexterous motion, dr. john brought[pg 89] the bone back to its wonted place. berty had been too much taken by surprise to cry out at first, and when it was over she felt too faint even to groan.
“you are a brave little girl,” said the doctor, wiping the pale face tenderly and holding a glass of water to berty’s lips. “the worst is over; it is only to dress the arm now and attend to one or two other little matters. my boy,” turning to tim, “you may go down to the carriage,—i think tom is back by this time,—and tell him to drive home with you, and ask mrs. grey to put up a good basket of provisions. by the time you are back again i shall be ready to go with you.”
tim telegraphed, in answer to berty’s imploring look, that he would take care of the pocket-book, and would not betray her; for tim, it must be remembered, had not the slightest notion to whom it belonged, not having noticed little mary’s question, and he would not, for the world, have exposed berty to the risk of going to the tombs by taking it to the station-house now: and yet the honest boy could not help feeling almost guilty[pg 90] as he put the package in his pocket and went down to the carriage.
“now we are rid of the boy,” said dr. john, who had been all the time busily at work putting splints and bandages upon the broken arm,—“now we are rid of the boy, we’ll attend to that bruise on the side and the sprained ankle; and then i think you can change her clothing a little, perhaps. does your arm feel better now, my dear?”
“much better,” answered berty, faintly; “but oh, my side!”
the side was, indeed, the worst injury, for the horse’s hoof had struck there, tearing off the skin and inflicting a frightful bruise. the doctor feared at first that a rib was broken, but finally concluding it was not, he dressed the wound carefully and bandaged the sprained ankle. then the good nurse put on a little white night-gown in place of the soiled and torn dress; and, by the time tim came back, berty was much more comfortable, though still very faint and in great pain.
“your sister is a right brave little girl,” said dr. john, as tim came to the bedside.[pg 91] “i never had a grown-up patient who behaved better.”
“berty’s not one of the whining sort,” tim answered; “but, sir, she’s not my sister at all.”
“ah! is she not? i thought you were very unlike,” said dr. john, glancing from one to the other.
“she’s dutch and i’m irish, sir; but we live in the same house.”
“fellow-lodgers, eh? that explains it. but about these children, now. how many are there?”
“four, sir,” answered tim.
“and you don’t mean to say,” said the doctor, turning to berty, “that there is no one who takes care of them but you?”
“lieb helps me,” answered berty, faintly, turning her face away from dr. john’s compassionate gaze. berty did not much like talking to, or looking at, the doctor, kind as he was, and pleasant as he looked, for the pocket-book somehow would come between.
“who is lieb?” asked dr. john, turning again to tim.
“he is her brother, sir; but he’s younger[pg 92] than she, and they’ve no one else. the father died at sea, and the mother wint afther him last spring, sir. it’s very hard upon berty, sir, feeding so many little mouths, and she’ll not let me help her, though i’ve tried, many a time and oft.”
“hard enough, indeed,” said dr. john, exchanging a glance of surprise and pity with the nurse; “but she can’t help herself now, my lad; so you and i will take care of them in spite of her. you are faint and tired, my dear,” he added, turning to berty; “but all you have to do now is to rest and get well. i would go to sleep directly, if i were you. we’ll look after the children, this young gentleman and i; and i promise you they shall not want for anything. i will see you again to-morrow. good night, now, and god bless you.”
berty could only murmur a faint “thank you,” in answer to all this kindness; for the pocket-book loomed up very big by this time, i can tell you. when the doctor and tim were gone, and the nurse, after smoothing the bedclothes and arranging the pillows very comfortably, went off to attend to her other[pg 93] patients, berty tried to think the matter over and decide what to do; but she was much too faint and tired for such weary work, and soon, in spite of her efforts, obeyed the doctor’s parting injunction, and fell asleep.
great was the amazement at mrs. flanagan’s when the grand carriage drove up, and dr. john and tim got out; and dire were the lamentations of berty’s little family when informed of the accident. but tim’s glowing account of the comforts of the hospital and the kindness of the doctor and the nurse went far to console them; and mrs. grey’s famous basket of provisions, too, was a great help: for these poor little children seldom tasted anything really good; and even gottlieb and lina, who were the only ones old enough to appreciate their sister’s misfortune, could not help heartily enjoying the wholesome food.
fritzy cried a little for his berty when bedtime came, but lina managed to soothe him; and, for the rest, the doctor’s pleasant face had so won their hearts that they were quite ready to credit tim’s assurance that both they and berty would be safe under his care.
tim did not sleep at the foot of the stairs again, but spread his straw pallet at the head of them, close to the children’s door, in spite of uncle teddy’s remonstrance. he did not mind the hard bed in the least; but the pocket-book pricked so, through the thin pillow under which it was laid for safe-keeping, that tim resolved to bring berty to terms on the morrow, or never to take charge of it again.
