“Thanky, sir,” said Dan, trying not to be gruff, and finding it easier than he expected.
“Now, the foot! Ach!--this is not well. We must have Dr. Firth to-morrow. Warm water, Jo, and old linen.”
Mr. Bhaer bathed and bound up the wounded foot, while Mrs. Jo prepared the only empty bed in the house. It was in the little guest-chamber leading from the parlor, and often used when the lads were poorly, for it saved Mrs. Jo from running up and down, and the invalids could see what was going on. When it was ready, Mr. Bhaer took the boy in his arms, and carried him in, helped him undress, laid him on the little white bed, and left him with another hand-shake, and a fatherly “Good-night, my son.”
Dan dropped asleep at once, and slept heavily for several hours; then his foot began to throb and ache, and he awoke to toss about uneasily, trying not to groan lest any one should hear him, for he _was_ a brave lad, and did bear pain like “a little Spartan,” as Mr. Bhaer called him.
Mrs. Jo had a way of flitting about the house at night, to shut the windows if the wind grew chilly, to draw mosquito curtains over Teddy, or look after Tommy, who occasionally walked in his sleep. The least noise waked her, and as she often heard imaginary robbers, cats, and conflagrations, the doors stood open all about, so her quick ear caught the sound of Dan’s little moans, and she was up in a minute. He was just giving his hot pillow a despairing thump when a light came glimmering through the hall, and Mrs. Jo crept in, looking like a droll ghost, with her hair in a great knob on the top of her head, and a long gray dressing-gown trailing behind her.
“It’s pretty bad; but I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I’m a sort of owl, always flying about at night. Yes, your foot is like fire; the bandages must be wet again,” and away flapped the maternal owl for more cooling stuff, and a great mug of ice water.
“Oh, that’s _so_ nice!” sighed Dan, as the wet bandages went on again, and a long draught of water cooled his thirsty throat.
“There, now, sleep your best, and don’t be frightened if you see me again, for I’ll slip down by and by, and give you another sprinkle.”
As she spoke, Mrs. Jo stooped to turn the pillow and smooth the bed-clothes, when, to her great surprise, Dan put his arm round her neck, drew her face down to his, and kissed her, with a broken “Thank you, ma’am,” which said more than the most eloquent speech could have done; for the hasty kiss, the muttered words, meant, “I’m sorry, I will try.” She understood it, accepted the unspoken confession, and did not spoil it by any token of surprise. She only remembered that he had no mother, kissed the brown cheek half hidden on the pillow, as if ashamed of that little touch of tenderness, and left him, saying, what he long remembered, “You are my boy now, and if you choose you can make me proud and glad to say so.”