“What a very devil incarnate the man must be!” muttered Dr. R—to himself, taking three or four strides across the floor. “I shall have to take the little fellow home, and browbeat his master, I suppose,” he continued. Then addressing Henry, he said, aloud—
“Well, I’ll take you home to him in my carriage, and settle all that for you, my little man; so don’t be frightened.”
Acting upon this resolution, Dr. R—soon drove up before the hatter’s shop, and, lifting out Henry himself, led him into the presence of his astonished master.
“What’s the matter now?” asked the latter, roughly, and with a forbidding aspect of countenance.
“The matter is simply this, sir,” responded Doctor R—, firmly. “I found this little boy of yours on the street absolutely unable to get along a step further; and on taking him into the drug store above, and examining his feet, I found them in a most shocking condition! Why, sir, in twelve hours mortification would have commenced, when nothing could have saved his life but the amputation of both limbs.” The sober earnestness of Doctor R—caused Sharp to feel some alarm, and he said—
“I had no idea, doctor, that he was as bad as that.”
“Well, he is, I can assure you, and it is a fortunate thing that I happened to come across him. Why, I haven’t seen so bad a case of chilblains these ten years.”
“What ought I to do for him, doctor?” asked Sharp, in real concern.
“I have done all that is necessary at present,” replied the doctor. “But he must be suffered to have rest; and, as you value his limbs, don’t let him be exposed to the wet or cold until his feet are healed, and the tenderness and soreness are both gone.”
“I shall attend to your direction, most certainly,” said Sharp, his manner greatly changed from what it was when the doctor came in. “But, really, doctor,” he continued, “I had no idea that there was any danger in getting the feet a little frosted.”
“The chilblains are not only extremely painful,” replied Doctor R—, “but there is great danger, where the feet are exposed to wet and cold, as Henry’s must have been to get in the condition they are, of mortification supervening. That little boy will require great care, or he will stand a chance of being crippled for life. Good- morning!”
Poor Henry! How eagerly had he hung upon the doctor’s words; how almost agonizing had been his desire for even the slightest intimation that he was remembered by the physician, to whose mistaken kind offices he was indebted for the place he held in the family of Sharp! But all was in vain. A dozen times he was on the eve of asking for his mother; but, as often, weak timidity held him back. In the presence of his master, fear kept him dumb. It seemed to him as if life would go out when he saw Doctor R—turn away from the shop and enter his carriage. A deep darkness fell upon his spirit.
As Doctor R—rode off in his carriage, he could not help congratulating himself on the good deed he had performed. Still he did not feel altogether satisfied about the boy. He had been so much concerned for his distressed situation, that he had failed to make any inquiries of him in regard to his friends; and for this he blamed himself, because it was clear that, if the child had friends they ought to know his condition. He blamed himself for this thoughtlessness, and a consciousness of having performed but half of his duty to the poor boy caused a shade of concern to steal over him, which he could not shake off.
And Henry, as he stood frightened in the shop, felt, as the carriage-wheels rattled away, the hope that had awakened faint and trembling in his heart, sinking into the gloom of despair. One who could have told him of his mother; one who, if he had only taken the courage to have mentioned his name, could have taken tidings of his condition to her, or perhaps would have carried him home, had been beside him for half an hour, and he had not spoken out. And now he was gone. He felt so sick and weak that he could hardly stand.
From his sad, waking dreams he was roughly startled by the loud, sharp voice of his mistress, who, attracted by the strong expressions of Doctor R—, now entered the shop, exclaiming—
“What’s all this? What’s that little wretch been doing now, ha?”
“I wish I’d never seen him!” muttered Sharp, but in a tone that left no doubt on the mind of his wife that something more than usually annoying had occurred.
“What’s the matter? What’s he been doing? Not stealing, I hope; though I shouldn’t wonder.”
“He’s sick, and you’ve got to take care of him,” was the dogged answer of Sharp.
“Sick! He looks sick, don’t he?” The tones of the virago were full of contempt.
Any eye but hers would have seen sickness, sorrow, suffering, and want in the pale, frightened face of the poor boy, as he stood trembling beside the counter, and actually clinging to it for support.
“Who was that in here, just now?” she added.
“Doctor R—, of Boston,” replied the hatter, who knew the doctor by sight very well.
“What did he want?”
“He picked Henry up in the street and took him over to the drug store at the corner. Then he brought him home in his carriage. He says that he must be taken care of, or he will become a cripple; that it’s the worst case of chilblains he ever saw; and that his feet are in danger of mortification.”
“I don’t believe a word of it. Here I you go off up-stairs,” speaking sharply, and with a threatening look to the child. “I’d like to know what business he has to come here, meddling in affairs that don’t concern him.”
Henry, thus spoken to, let go of the counter, by which he was sustaining himself, and attempted to move toward the door. As he did so, his face grew deadly pale. He staggered across the shop, fell against the wall, and then sank down upon the floor. Mrs. Sharp sprang toward him, not with any humane intention, we are sorry to say; but, ere she had grasped the boy’s arm, and given him the purposed jerk, the sight of his ashen, lifeless face prevented the outrage. Exhausted nature could bear nothing more, and protected herself in a temporary suspension of her power. Henry had fainted, and it was well that it was so. The fact was a stronger argument in his favor than any external exhibition of suffering that could have been given.
The hatter and his wife were both alarmed at an event so unexpected by either of them. Henry was quickly removed to a chamber, and every effort made to restore him. It was not a very long time before the machinery of
