Gertrude My Gertrude
"Gertrude! My Gertrude!" Page 190.
It required all Dan's eloquence and power of argument to convince his mother that Gertrude was killed by mistake.
"But why did you not tell me at once, Daniel, that I might have had her properly interred, instead of making an exhibition of the remains?"
Dan at length convinced his mother that it was his affection for Gertrude that led him to take this method of keeping her in remembrance. But never after this did Mrs. Clemens deem Rich unfitted for his profession by over-sensitiveness.
Richardson, who had thus far performed his operations upon animals with a common pocket-knife, a carpenter's fine saw, and some instruments he made in the shop of the village blacksmith,—making sleight of hand and mechanical skill supply the place of suitable tools,—was now able to purchase a pocket case of surgical instruments, that economized time, and greatly facilitated his labors. They were also of a better pattern than those he at times borrowed of the doctor.
Instead of going home in the vacations, he devoted the leisure afforded by the close of the academy to medical studies and experiments.
"Mr. Richardson," said the doctor, one day, after they had been enjoying a sing together, "it seems strange to me that you are not more inclined to go with me to visit patients. It is the very thing you need, especially when bones are to be set, or dislocations reduced. It is only occasionally that you go."
"Indeed, doctor, I hope you will not feel that I do not appreciate your kindness in so often inviting me, or that I am not sensible of the benefit to be thus obtained; but I look at it in this light, which perhaps is not the right one. I am young enough, and do not intend to commence practice till thoroughly fitted; and it seems to me there can be no correct practice without a thorough knowledge of first principles, and that the practice should be based upon, and grow out of, that knowledge.
"I have therefore resolved that I would, while here, endeavor to attain a knowledge of principles; operating, as I go along, on animals; going with you occasionally; economizing my means; and by and by attend lectures at Brunswick, or some place where I shall have ample opportunity for dissection, or go somewhere for hospital practice."
"I think you are correct there; but still I feel that you might, without neglecting your studies, obtain a great deal more practical knowledge as you go along, and that it would be time excellently well spent; for the human body, and not that of the animal, is the one you will have to deal with, and all you can learn from the brute will be only an approach, require to be modified a great deal, and much of it won't apply in actual practice."
"I have not the least doubt, doctor, but thecourse you advise is the best, but in my circumstances I cannot avail myself of it.
"Perhaps it would come with a better grace from some one else, but the people in this town have expressed great attachment to me, and estimate me far above my deserts. Now, if I should go much with you to visit patients, bleed, and pull teeth, and reduce dislocations, as you would have me, every academy scholar who wanted a tooth pulled, or a gum-boil lanced, would be running to me, because they would think I should not hurt them so much as you.
"People who wanted a sore opened, others, who are personally attached to me, would come for slight complaints. Many persons who are ashamed to send for you, because they owe you, would think, 'Perhaps Mr. Richardson will do just as well; he's been studying a good while with the doctor.' And thus all my time would be frittered away, and nothing to show for it."
The doctor broke into a hearty laugh, and said, "I will yield the point, Mr. Richardson. I must acknowledge you have made out a strong case."
"That is the way I look at it. I am wheeling two wheelbarrows now,—studying medicine, and teaching,—and I don't mean to wheel three."
At the close of a long, hot day, the latter part of May, Clement Richardson and his brother, wearied with toil, were seated, one on the anvil, the other on the forge.
Somewhat more than a year had passed since their misfortune. During that period their condition had very much improved, owing to the following circumstance. Cast steel had been introduced, but only a few smiths in the country were able to use it.
More care and judgment were required in working it than the old material, and the aid of borax was necessary to weld it with iron. The old smiths around Richardson would have nothing to do with "the new-fangled stuff," stuck to blistered steel and a sand weld.
But Clement Richardson belonged to a race ever open to new ideas, and perceived at a glance the value of the new metal. He had seen his father use borax to braze the threads of his vice, as also saw plates, and soon learned to use the steel, and consequently monopolized all the work in his vicinity. For there is no comparison between blistered and cast steel for an edge tool.
Their business, however, received a still greater impulse about a month before the period to which we refer. There had been little improvement in farming tools in that vicinity; the old iron pitch and manure forks were everywhere used. Clement Richardson went to Massachusetts to buy steel and iron, and there saw a patent spring steel pitchfork. He came home, and made forks with an improvement that did not infringe on the patent, and the operation proved very profitable.
"Clem," said Robert, "our year during which we were to have this shop free will soon be out. What say you for buying the old homestead back? We can pay a few hundred down, give a mortgage back, and what we should pay for rent will go towards shrinking the debt."
"The rent of the shop won't be much, Robert, and you know we were to have the rent of the house free from the time of occupancy. Suppose we wait till then."
"What if Montague should sell it over our heads?"
"I'll speak to him, and get the refusal of it."
When the brothers got home, they found a letter from Rich, containing a portion of his hard earnings, that he had sent to aid his parents. His father, however, sent the money back, informing Rich of the success of the new forks, and telling him they were getting money much faster than he was.
Waiting till his wages for the next term fell due, Rich expended the whole in the purchase of books more modern than those found in the collection of his patron, and containing principles the latter would by no means have approved.
Rich was seated in his room, earnestly engaged in study, when he was roused by a great rumpus on the stairs. In a moment the door was flung violently open, and Dan and Frank Merrill rushed into the room.
Dan had evidently been crying, for the tears stood in his eyes then, and Frank was not far from it.
"Excuse us, Mr. Richardson, for coming in so, but—"
"But you couldn't help it. What is the matter?"
"O, Mr. Richardson, don't you think! Frank, and Horace, and me were going down to the river, to go in swimming, and there was Ned Baker, Clinton Blanchard, and a whole lot of boys, had got his dog Rover, the prettiest dog you ever did see, and they'd got a rope round his neck, and were going to drown him."
"What were they going to drown him for?"
"Because they were at play with him, and pushed him under a cart; the wheel went over his hind leg, and ground it all up."
"You don't know how pitiful he looked, Mr. Richardson," said Merrill; "there they were, dragging him along on three legs, his broken leg hanging down, and he whining enough to break your heart. I never will like Clin Blanchard after this, to treat his dog so, that he pretended to love so much! I think it's real mean."
"So we got 'em to give him to us," said Dan; "and we've brought him to you, Mr. Richardson, for you to doctor him, and make him well. Will you, Mr. Richardson? Don't kill him. O, don't, please don't. You won't kill him; will you?"
And Dan, who was as noble-hearted a boy as the sun ever shone upon, could hold in no longer, and burst into tears.
"I am not so bloodthirsty as you may suppose," said Rich, half offended at the implied distrust.
"I didn't mean that, Mr. Richardson. We all love you, and know you are just as kind and good as can be. But—"
"But you know I like to experiment upon animals. Well, I'll do all I can for Rover, just as though he was my brother. So don't cry any more. Where is he?"
"Horace has got him at the door."
Rover indeed presented a sorry sight. His tongue was hanging out of his mouth, the broken leg hung dangling, covered with dust and blood. He whined piteously when any one even looked at it, appeared frightened, the water ran from his eyes, and he from time to time looked up beseechingly in the face of Horace, who held him by the collar.
"Poor fellow! he's crying," said Frank; and with his handkerchief he wiped the tears from his eyes. "I suppose his leg hurts him."
"Give him some water," said Rich.
The dog drank eagerly, and seemed revived.
"Now give him something to eat."
He ate but sparingly, and, evidently feeling assured, wagged his tail in acknowledgment.
"See how grateful he is," said Horace.
"He knows he's among friends," replied Rich.
"Better kill him at once," said Mrs. Clemens, "and put him out of misery. He will die."
"Kill him!" howled Dan; "kill him! O, mother, I shouldn't think you would talk so. He's worth forty old cats. We're going to make him get well. What's the use of studying so much to be a doctor, if you can't help anybody?"
"Well spoken, Dan," said Rich. "Take him to the barn."
Rich cut off the leg of one of Dan's old boots, and drew it over Rover's nose, to prevent him from biting them. They placed him on the table, and strapped him down.
"Boys," he said, after examination, "this is a compound fracture. The bones of the foot are all ground up, the skin broken, and the muscles bruised, and filled with gravel. The limb can't be set; it will rot off, this warm weather, before it will heal. The only way to save him is to amputate below the hock, and save the hock joint. Which would you prefer, kill him, let him alone to die himself, or amputate, and have a dog with three legs?"
The boys were a unit in favor of amputation. He therefore, having previously instructed his young assistants in what manner to hold the arteries and the limb, took it off, and tied the blood-vessels, sponged and bound up the wound.
Dan made him a bed by putting some straw ina corner, and covering it with a horse blanket, and, cutting some wide leather straps from the old chaise boot, they fastened him in such a manner that he could not move to his own injury. Rover whined terribly during the operation, but when it was finished, and the leg bound up in cold water, he became quiet, licked Dan's fingers when he took off the muzzle, and wagged his tail, no doubt sensible that he was handled gently, and that no harm was intended.
Dan got his mother to make a pillow-case. He stuffed it with chaff, and placed the wounded leg on it to keep it up (as it was shorter than the other), and make Rover as comfortable as possible. They then patted him, told him to lie still, and leaving the stable, got their lessons together in Dan's house.
When Dan got up the next morning, he found, sitting on the door-step, a little dog. His eyes were so bright they sparkled; and his back was black, also his ears and head; there was a ring of white around his neck, and his breast, legs, and feet were white. The black was jet black, and the white as white as white could be; his tail was black, and curled up so crisp over his back that it seemed as though it would lift him up behind; looking, with his erect, sharp-pointed ears, and fine, glossy coat, as though he came right out of a bandbox.
Dan recognized him in a moment, and runningto Rich, told him "that Carlo—Ned Baker's dog, who lived in the next house to Clinton Blanchard, Rover's former master—was sitting on the door-step, and he didn't believe but he had come to see Rover, for they had been great friends, always playing together, and there were never two dogs agreed as well as they."
When they went to the door, Carlo was scratching and whining at the stable door, and Rover whining within. They let him into the harness-room, when Carlo jumped on his friend's bed, licked his face, licked the stump of his leg, and smelt him all over. Rover licked Carlo's face in return, wagged his tail, and seemed delighted.
The new comer then rolled himself into a ball, and lay down at Rover's nose, shutting first one eye, and then the other, as though he would say, "I have come to spend the day, and Imeanto."
"That is capital," said Rich. "He has come on a visit of consolation. The patient will recover a great deal faster for having him here."
The two dogs took their breakfast together, and great was the surprise of Horace and Frank when they called, on their way to school, to know how Rover did, and found Carlo nursing him.
Another boy afterwards told them, "that when he first got up in the morning, he saw Carlo running along the road, with his nose to the ground." It was evident that, missing his companion, he had scented the track, and followed on till he found him.
About the middle of the afternoon Carlo went home; but at seven o'clock the next morning he returned, accompanied by three more dogs; one a great Newfoundland—Neptune. They all went up and smelt of Rover, sat round a while, and then disappeared, one after another, Carlo remaining, as before.
"I suppose," said Dan, "he went and saw all these dogs, told them what had happened to Rover, and so they came to see him."
The patient recovered rapidly; the stump healed, the ligatures came away, and it was evident the ends of the bones were well covered. Rich permitted both the dogs to lick it, which hastened the process of healing very much. Dr. Ryan came to see it, had a hearty laugh, congratulated Rich upon his success in this maiden effort, the fine appearance of the stump, and told him "He ought to give his patient a wooden leg."
Rover was now permitted to get up. The boys washed him with soap suds, rubbed him dry, and permitted him to walk out every day, and lie in the sun, on the grass. He was a beautiful dog—a spaniel, with a fine silky coat.
Carlo frisked around, barked, lay on his back, rolled over, and expressed his joy in every imaginable way.
Rover soon began to run about the yard, and follow Dan round the premises, going (till he became tired) as well on three legs as four. One noon,Dan came home from school, and found neither of the dogs at home. He was greatly disturbed, for Rover had now become very dear to him.
"I expect," said Mrs. Clemens, "he has gone back to his old home and master."
"Mother, I don't believe Rover is such a fool as that. Go back to the fellow who was going to murder him! I know he loves me better than that."
"I guess," said Rich, "he has gone to return some of the calls that have been made on him." So it proved. For when Dan came home at night, both dogs had returned, bringing two more with them.
Mrs. Clemens gradually became attached to Rover, till at length he completely won her heart, and filled the void left by the loss of Gertrude.
The boys were apprehensive that other dogs would pick upon Rover, now that he was disabled, and no longer able to defend himself or make his escape; but it was just the reverse. He found the warmest sympathy everywhere. When, in company with other dogs, he became tired and fell behind, they would stop and wait for him to come up; and if any strange dog had imposed upon Rover, they would have torn him to pieces in a moment.
Rich made him a wooden leg, carved to match one of his own. At first he held it up altogether, but after a while would use it to stand upon, andput it down when he became tired, and walk a little; then hold it up and run. He soon found that by its aid he could jump up on Dan.
It improved his looks wonderfully, as it prevented his hip from dropping, and Dan said "that he always wanted it on when they or he had company." Rover was a water spaniel, and Dan had to take the leg off when he went into the water, as it buoyed up his hinder parts, and interfered with swimming.
Dan Clemens had taken at the first very little interest in the peculiar studies and experiments of his teacher; indeed, they were to him, a kindly-affectionate boy, rather revolting; but after the successful operation upon Rover, his feelings underwent a complete change; he was enraptured with the skill, firmness, and tender feeling manifested by Rich, spent a great deal of time at the dissecting table, and manifested a strong desire to obtain, at least, some general knowledge in respect to the mechanism of his own frame.
One evening he was seated in the harness-room, watching Rich, who was examining the stump of Rover's leg, that had become sore from the pressure of the wooden substitute, and devising some way to remedy it, when he suddenly exclaimed,—
"Mr. Richardson, how do they cut off a man's leg?"
"Very much as I did that dog's; only they use a tourniquet to compress the vessels and stop thecirculation, then cut through the flesh, saw off the bones, and put ligatures on the ends of the arteries."
"What is it makes the great difference between the arteries and the veins, so that folks say, if you cut an artery, you'll bleed to death in no time. But they never speak so about veins; it's always arteries."
"I can't explain it to you, without telling you something about the heart, to start with."
"Well, tell me. O, do tell me, please."
"You saw the hog's heart I had the other day. Do you remember how it looked?"
"It looked something like an egg little end up."
"Well, a hog's heart is very much like a man's, so that one will do to represent the other. You noticed that it was smooth, and stood out about its whole bigness clear from everything, except at the base, where it joined the body?"
"Yes, sir."
"On each side of the base are two appendages, wrinkled, and shaped like an ear, denoting cavities within called from them the auricles, and into these cavities run several tubes that connect them to the parts adjacent. They are called auricles because they look so much like an ear."
"I know what they are. I saw the butcher cut them off, when he trimmed our hog's harslet: he called them deaf ears, and said they were poison."
"The heart is a hollow muscle, that contractsand dilates with great force. It is not dependent upon the will, but operates in virtue of a natural law. Through the middle of the heart, from the base to the summit, runs a partition, leaving a chamber on each side, between which there is no direct communication: they are distinguished by the terms right and left auricles. In addition to this, there is a cross parting on each side, thus making four chambers, the two upper retaining the name of auricles, the two lower denominated ventricles.
"I will now explain to you the use of all this. The right auricle opens into the large trunk vein of the body, that, in connection with the others, brings back the blood from the extremities, after the arteries have distributed it. It has also another opening into the right ventricle below it. The auricle on the other side of the partition (the left) is pierced by four veins that enter the lungs, called pulmonary veins, and also by another passage communicates with the ventricle beneath it. Now let us talk about ventricles. The right ventricle is entered by the great pulmonary artery that carries all the blood in the body through the lungs. The left ventricle is penetrated by the great artery, called the great aorta. In each of these cross partitions, there are valves that will permit blood to pass from the auricles into the ventricles, but not to return. There are also valves at the roots of the arteries that permit theblood to go from the heart into the arteries, but not to return. There are no valves at the roots of the veins that enter the auricles, nothing to obstruct the flowing of the blood from them into the auricles. Thus the roots of the veins arise from the auricles, and the roots of the arteries from the ventricles. Do you understand this description, because it is the foundation of all that follows—understand what a valve is?"
"Yes, sir; the clapper in our pump-box is a valve; it lets the water come up out of the well into the pump, but it won't let a drop go back."
"Well said; just so the valves in the partings of the heart permit the blood to pass from the auricles into the ventricles, but not to go back; thus, also, the valves placed at the roots of the arteries permit the passage of the blood from the ventricles into the arteries, but not the return of it to the heart. Do you understand this?"
"Yes, sir."
To make it more evident, Rich drew the heart, the veins, and the arteries entering it, with chalk, and the main branches of both.
"Now let us, for the clearer perception of what you wish to know, consider the march of the blood: and we might as well begin at the heart as anywhere."
"I think I can understand it better to commence there."
"From the right ventricle of the heart, springsthe pulmonary artery, which, separating into several branches, some of them not larger than hairs, carries the blood into all portions of the lungs, where they communicate with the terminations of the pulmonary veins, which, receiving the blood from the arteries, bring it back to the left auricle, uniting, as they approach the heart, into four large veins, called the pulmonary veins. From the left ventricle rises the main artery (or great aorta), which, receiving all the blood of the body poured into it by the pulmonary veins, distributes it over the trunk and limbs, branching in every direction, the divisions gradually becoming smaller and smaller as they approach the extremities: here they communicate with the extremities of the veins which bring back the blood to the right auricle. So much for the aqueducts; now we will look at the action of the force-pump itself. The heart is a hollow muscle. All the valves and division walls we have been talking about are muscular in their texture, and moved by a network of muscles and minute tendons, tough and elastic, like the gizzard of a fowl, and capable of contraction and expansion. We will suppose the right auricle to be full of blood that has been brought by the veins from the fingers, toes, the substance of the heart itself, the lungs, and the liver, and poured into it. This blood is dark-colored; called black blood. It has washed the whole body. The instant it enters the auricle, that organ contracts and forcesit into the ventricle below it; the valve holds it there: then the ventricle contracts and forces it into the pulmonary artery; the valve of the artery holds it there: the auricle expands, fills, again contracts, fills the ventricle, that, in its turn, forces the blood into the artery, and thus, by successive leaps, it passes into and through the lungs, enters the pulmonary veins, and is by them brought back to the left auricle. It is now no longer black blood, but bright, red, arterial blood: before it was venous."
"What makes it red?"
"I don't know. It is supposed by being brought in contact with the air in the cells of the lungs. When the auricle receives this red blood, it contracts, forces it into the left ventricle beneath, then the ventricle in its turn contracts, forces it into the main artery, and by this and its branches it is carried to the extremities, to come back in one continual round, as long as life lasts. Itislife; for the moment the heart ceases to contract and dilate, insensibility takes place, and death instantly follows."
"It seems to me that the left side of the heart has a great deal more work to do than the right, for the left has to force the blood into the main artery, and all over the body, to the toes, the fingers, the brain: but the right ventricle only has to force it through the lungs that are close by, touch the heart, and it is a short route."
"True, and for this reason, the muscles of the left ventricle, which force the red blood of the great circulation through the main artery, are much more numerous and stronger than those of the right, which has so much less work to perform. It is the powerful contraction of the muscles of the left ventricle, causing the point of the heart to strike the fifth or sixth rib, that creates the throb you can feel; they exert power enough to send all the blood of the body through the heart twenty-three times in an hour."
"I had no idea matters were going ahead inside of me at that rate."
"You must bear in mind that I have described these things separately, but in the order of nature, it is quite another matter. The red blood from the lungs arrives at the left, and the black blood from the veins at the right auricle at the same instant; both auricles contract at once, and force the blood into their respective ventricles; both ventricles contract together and force the blood into the arteries; and thus it goes on in a person of the feeblest pulse; these alternate motions occupy, when in a state of health, but a second; the pulse at your wrist is the throb of the artery, the stroke of the heart. What do you suppose now is the force of that stroke, when the left ventricle contracts?"
"I'm sure I don't know."
"Well, the blood has been known to spurt morethan five feet from the artery of the neck (carotid) when first cut. You see, now, why it is so dangerous to wound a large artery: the blood spurts at every stroke of the heart, while in the veins there is no such pressure or direct connection; besides, as the veins are designed not to carry the blood from the heart, but to bring it back, they are also furnished with numerous valves that favor the flow of blood towards the heart, but not from it."
"There is one thing I can't understand. When a man's leg is cut off, all the arteries and veins cut, how does the blood get back to the heart when the ends of the arteries are tied, and there is no communication between them and the veins?"
"By a provision of nature, there are many minute twigs and branches given off by the arteries all along their course, scarcely observable when the circulation is in its normal state, that are connected with veins equally small; those become enlarged by pressure, and renew the connection."
"It seems to me, Mr. Richardson, that the heart is like two pumps in two wells, side by side, only one throws a bigger stream than the other, and with more force."
"Ay, Daniel; but your mother's pump bears no comparison to the heart. During the time I have been with her, the spear has worn off, the boxes have been new leathered, and the cracks in the pump that sucked air have been covered with puttyand lead; butthispump runs eighty, and sometimes a hundred years without the pause of a second."
"Why don't the muscles of the heart get tired, just as my legs do, and want to rest?"
"They do rest, and just as long as they work; rest a second, and work a second, day and night. The other muscles are in a state of tension all day, and then rest at night."
"Well, I mean to know how I am made up, before I am much older."
The industry of Rich was something remarkable. He was well fed, his work for Mrs. Clemens gave him abundant exercise, and kept him in vigorous health, and the habit of thorough study he had performed in college enabled him to make rapid progress.
In connection with the study of text-books he had performed a great number of operations upon animals, obtained practice in the use of instruments, and now felt disposed to comply, to a certain extent, with the doctor's advice in respect to actual practice. It was not long before an opportunity offered.
Dan Clemens had the toothache, and in spite of all the remedies his mother applied,—and they were by no means few in number—laudanum, gunpowder, pepper, cloves, the stem of a pumpkin smoked in a pipe, hot salt, camphor, and new rum,—was half crazy with it.
"Mr. Richardson," said Dan, "will you please pull my tooth? I don't want to go to Dr. Ryan. I know he'll hurt me awfully."
"Nobody can pull a tooth, Daniel, without inflicting pain. They are designed to stay in—the second crop."
"But you won't hurt me as much as he will. He won't care if he does hurt me. Besides, you haven't got such an awful-looking thing to pull 'em with as his is." Rich had purchased, with his other instruments, forceps of a modern pattern, while the doctor used the huge old corkscrew instruments. "Do, please, Mr. Richardson. I won't tell anybody; so you won't have your time taken up by boys running to you."
Rich put the instrument on the tooth Dan indicated, and took it out in a moment. Dan gave a fearful yell, and ran to the fire-place.
"I told you it would hurt you."
"I don't care. Dr. Ryan would have hurt me more."
Notwithstanding Dan's promise of secrecy, it got wind somehow, and Rich soon had considerable practice of that kind. But, as he had now made good progress in study, and the money was very acceptable, he became reconciled to it.
An opportunity was soon after this presented that Rich did not fail to improve. The people of the neighborhood were engaged in hauling a barn, and a young man, in attempting to fling a skid under the building while in motion, received a compound fracture of the thigh. Dr. Ryan was called. He sent for Dr. Slaughter, and took Richwith him, who required no solicitation, as it was the first opportunity he had enjoyed of witnessing an important operation.
The limb was taken off some distance above the knee, leaving that joint entire, it having escaped injury by being pressed into the mud. Weary of dissecting animals, Rich longed to obtain this limb. There it lay, a well-developed leg and part of the thigh of a young man. He took it in his hands after the operation was performed, and gloated over it as an antiquarian over a rare coin. His fingers itched, and he felt an intense desire to possess it.
"Dr. Ryan," he whispered, "won't you ask for this leg, and then give it to me?"
"It would be of no use, Mr. Richardson; they would think the leg must be buried, or the man would not do well. It would cost me my practice. They are that superstitious. But if I were you, I would find out where they bury it, and dig it up to-night."
The doctor took up the limb, and carrying it into the kitchen, said, "This leg must be put in a box and buried."
"That it must," replied the father of the young man; "for I've heard say, ever since I can remember, if a dog or any critter got hold of any part of a person what had been cut off, that person would feel it just as though the limb was still on."
"I'll make the box, and help bury it," said Rich.
"I should be much obliged if you would, Mr. Richardson. Neighbor Pollard, here, will help you. Where ought it to be buried, doctor?"
"In the graveyard with his relatives, to be sure. It is part of a Christian, and the rest of him will go to keep it company some time."
A daughter of the family had died some years before, and Pollard proposed that the leg should be buried beside her grave, which was done.
The doctor had proposed that it should be put in a box, in order to keep it clean, and in a good state for Rich to dissect, and be placed in the cemetery, because that lot was in a retired spot.
That night Rich dug up the limb, and hid it in the haymow, meaning to dissect it the next night, in order to escape the sharp eyes of Dan Clemens, and then keep the bones in the doctor's study, where there was a closet.
Rich was detained at school that afternoon by a boy who had failed to get his lesson. When he reached the house he found a man in the barn floor loading hay on a cart from the very mow in which he had concealed the leg, while Dan was on the mow pitching down the hay.
"I am so glad you have come, Mr. Richardson! Mr. Bangs wants a ton of hay, and I told Daniel he had better be doing what he could till you came."
Rich was terribly frightened. His color went and came.
"Daniel," he cried, flinging off his coat, "run into the house quick, and get me a drink; I am very thirsty."
Leaping upon the mow, he beheld one corner of the box already uncovered. Another fork full would have done the business. Before Dan returned with his water, he had put it in a safe place. There was but one window in the harness-room, and while Dan was gone after the cow, Rich nailed the horse-blanket over it, in order that no one passing might observe a light, as he intended to dissect after the family—or at least Dan, of whom he was the most apprehensive—were asleep.
Having accomplished his purpose, he was passing from the stable to the house, when Dr. Ryan, who was riding by in his gig, called to him, and said,—
"Mr. Richardson, Coolbroth is dead."
"Dead!"
"Yes; died about an hour ago. Very strange. Never was more surprised in my life. Thought he was doing well. Sank all at once. Going to be buried to-morrow forenoon. Hot weather—they can't keep him. Good night."
"Good night."
Rising from supper as soon as possible without attracting attention, Rich made the best of his way to Coolbroth's. He met Pollard there, and found the family in great affliction.
"We don't any of us know what's afore us, Mr.Richardson," said Pollard; "'cause, if we had, we might have saved ourselves the trouble o' buryin' that leg, for we've got to dig it up ag'in in the mornin'."
"What are you going to dig it up for?"
"'Cause they want to lay him in that spot, side o' his sister; and then they want to put the leg in the coffin with the rest of him, as rights they should, poor feller."
"What time to-morrow will the funeral take place?"
"Ten o'clock. I shall have to be stirring 'arly, and begin by sunrise to dig the grave, 'cause they've nobody 'cept myself to call on, and I've got a master sight to see to."
Rich inquired no further, but went home in no little perturbation. He sat up in his room till twelve o'clock, then crept down stairs in his stocking feet, with his shoes in his hand, and without a light. Since the death of Gertrude, rats had multiplied on the premises. They had a regular road from the stable, through the porch, which they entered from beneath, through a hole in the floor. The night previous to the occurrences now to be narrated, one of these vermin had gnawed his way into the flour barrel. Dan had set a steel trap at the hole in the shed, where the rats came up, and quite out of the track of any one going to the stable. But Rich, fumbling along in the dark, put his foot in it.
The trap was one of the old-fashioned rat traps, made tokillandhold, with a smart spring, and the jaws on the inside armed with teeth, like a saw.
The pain and surprise combined caused Rich to utter an involuntary scream, that, breaking on the stillness of midnight, alarmed the household.
Mrs. Clemens lay in bed, screaming alternately, "Murder," and "Thieves," at the top of her voice. Dan rushed down stairs in his night-gown, when Rich called to him, and explained matters.
By the time Dan had procured a light, Rich had drawn his foot out of the trap, and Mrs. Clemens and the hired girl made their appearance.
"Mr. Richardson," said Mrs. Clemens, "you have hurt your foot terribly. The blood is oozing through your stocking. Let me make a slippery elm poultice, and put on it."
"It is a mere scratch, Mrs. Clemens—only skin deep."
"There is some water in the tea-kettle that must be blood-warm now. Betty, bring a small tub, for Mr. Richardson to bathe his foot, and a sponge."
"There is no need of it, Mrs. Clemens. Cold water is better. I can wash it in my chamber."
The night was fast spending. It would be daylight by the time he reached the cemetery. Rich had no time to spare, and wished Mrs. Clemens was in another hemisphere.
"At least, Mr. Richardson, let me get you somebandages, and some new rum and wormwood, to bathe it in. Daniel will take the things up stairs."
"Indeed, Mrs. Clemens, I thank you very much; but I have some sticking-plaster in my chamber."
And Rich, hastily bidding them good night, went to his room.
When there, he found that the jaws of the trap had cut deeper than he supposed, and the wound began to be stiff and painful. He bound it up, and taking an old boot, cut out the vamp, and was by this means enabled to wear it.
"What shall I do?" said Rich to himself. "I ought to be at the graveyardnow. It will be two hours before that old lady will go to sleep, and I never can get out of the house without her knowledge."
Rich's room was in the second story of the L, and the water-spout ran near the window. After waiting half an hour, and finding all was still, Rich, raising the sash as gently as possible, descended by the conductor to the ground, and taking the box from the barn, went limping along in the bright moonlight, the box under one arm, and a shovel in the other hand. The jaws of the trap had bruised the numerous tendons that run along the top of the foot, and every step was a pang.
"I wish I had never seen this confounded leg," said Rich. "If I can only get it where it came from, it's the last thing I'll ever dig up."
The graveyard to which Rich now directed his steps was the original burying-place of the town; but another having been provided, in a more central location, it had been little used for years, and was overgrown with bushes and sweet fern, an occasional spruce or hemlock assuming almost the dimensions of a tree.
Narrow, in proportion to its breadth, one end of the lot approached the main road, the intervening space being level, and clear of obstructions, except near the gate, where the wall was fringed with spruce, sumach, and hazel bushes, a very dense clump of spruce and dwarf birch growing just beside the main entrance.
Notwithstanding the lonely situation and neglected aspect of the place, there were many very handsome monuments scattered over its surface. But the hands that reared them were mouldering in the dust, and their descendants, becoming interested in the new cemetery, the ancient graveyard seemed likely to return to its original state offorest, and that indeed at no distant period, being already enclosed on three sides by a growth of majestic pines, whose roots, in several places, had flung down the wall. A few rods beyond the main entrance, the road, making a sharp turn, led up a hill.
Far removed from any habitation or sound of busy life, this resting-place of the departed lay reposing in the clear moonlight that seemed to embrace it, silvering with its wavy light the rough walls, the monuments of the dead, and the foliage, bathed in dew. So deep was the stillness, that the slow and painful tread of Rich on the hard-beaten road was distinctly audible.
He was about half way from the road to the gate, when all at once rang out with startling effect upon the still air,—
"Come here to me. What are you hangin' off there for, old Bright? Come here to me, or I'll put the cold iron into your liver."
The next moment his ears were greeted with that peculiar slat and jingle that ensues when the tongue cattle on the top of a hill throw up their heads in order to hold back a heavy load.
"Good heavens!" thought Rich; "I am beset indeed. It is Sam Waterhouse, with his four-ox team."
Regardless of his lame foot, he crept into the bunch of bushes near the gate, with the box and shovel. In a few moments a large dog came upthe hill, followed by Sam, who stopped his cattle opposite the gate, to let them breathe. The dog, in the mean time running along the road, came upon Richardson's track, and following it up to the bushes, began to bark furiously. Fearing discovery, Rich crept along through the scattering bushes, into the thicker growth, still proceeding in a line parallel with the main road, and not far from it. The dog, however, continued to follow, barking so furiously, that Rich, afraid that Waterhouse would come to see what the dog was barking at, stepped out into the road without attracting the notice of Sam, till he was within a few feet of him, who, supposing him to have come by the road from the village, exclaimed,—
"Good evenin', Mr. Richardson; or, ruther, mornin'; for I reckon it's mighty near daybreak. I was jest thinkin' of goin' ter see what the dog was barkin' at; thought may be 'twas a coon; they're apt to be out these moonlight nights; but I s'pose 'twas you he hearn. Didn't 'spect ter run foul o' you, this time in the mornin'. S'pose you had a sudden call. Doctors and teamsters, they must kalkerlate to be broke o' their rest, and folks say you're gettin' ter be quite a doctor, and Dr. Ryan speaks master well o' you."
"Sick and dying time, Mr. Waterhouse," said Rich, wishing to turn the conversation from himself, and not heeding the question of the other; "I wonder you should be going away with a teamwhen young Coolbroth is to be buried to-morrow."
"Wouldn't have gone for anything. 'Tain't to save money, nor 'arn money, but I'd 'greed to deliver these ere shooks, and was 'bleeged ter. Seems to me you limp. I can't see quite so well as I used ter, 'specially in the night, but I thought you favored that left foot somewhat."
"Yes; I have a sore foot."
"Jammed it? Jammed the nail off? 'Cause, if ye have, there's nothin' so good to take the soreness out as mullein leaves, steeped in new rum."
"I stepped into a rat trap in the dark."
"My songs! that's dreadful bad. Might give you the lockjaw. There's nothin' 'll take that ere iron rust out o' the flesh like the marrer (marrow) of a hog's jaw."
"I don't doubt it," said Rich, to whom this prosing was perfect agony; "but I must go on."
"So must I. Back, Bright! Her, Buck, up! Stan' up there, old Star."
Rich made as though he would have gone on, and soon enjoyed the satisfaction of hearing the sound of Sam's wheels die away in the distance; but when he again recovered his box and shovel, the gray light was streaking the eastern sky.
Flinging off both coat and vest, he strained every nerve to dig a hole in which to deposit the box at the same depth, and in the same place as before. In momentary expectation of seeing Pollard arrive,he exerted himself till the sweat trickled down his cheeks, for, whenever he stopped to take breath, the early birds were singing in the trees around him.
He had scarcely time to deposit the last shovelful, and congratulate himself upon his success, when the sound of wheels was heard rapidly approaching, and Pollard, accompanied by another person, drove up to the graveyard gate.