Aunty Rose’s philosophy must have been correct. Prince pulled, and Carolyn May pulled, and together they got the sled, with the old sailor upon it, to the Parlow carpenter shop.
Mr. Parlow slid back the front door of his shop to stare in wonder at the group.
“For the great land of Jehoshaphat!” he croaked. “Car’lyn May! what you got there?”
“Oh, Mr. Parlow, do come and help us—quick!” gasped the little girl. “My friend has had a dreadful bad fall.”
“Your friend?” repeated the carpenter. “I declare, it’s that tramp that went by here just now!”
“Oh, no, sir! he isn’t a tramp,” declared Carolyn May firmly.
“Why ain’t he, I sh’d like to know?” grumbled Mr. Parlow, coming gingerly forward.
“Why, if he were, Prince wouldn’t have anything to do with him,” was the little girl’s assured reply. “This gentleman is hurt, Mr. Parlow.”
Mr. Parlow made a clucking noise in his throat when he saw the blood. 162
“Guess you’re right, Car’lyn May,” he admitted. “Call Mandy. She must see this.”
Miss Amanda’s attention had already been attracted to the strange arrival. She ran out and helped her father raise the injured man from the sled. Together they led him into the cottage.
He was not at all a bad-looking man, although his clothing was rough and coarse. His hands were big and square, with blunt fingers, and the fingers were half-crooked, or half-closed, all the time. Afterwards Carolyn May learned this was because the old man was a sailor and had pulled on ropes so many years.
The trained nurse and her father helped the man to the couch, after removing his pilot coat. Miss Amanda brought warm water and bathed the wound, removing the congealed blood from his face and neck.
“I think there should be a stitch or two taken in this,” she said, “but Dr. Nugent is a long way off. I can dress it all right and bind it up. But if it was sewed, the wound would not leave so bad a scar.”
“That’s no matter—no matter at all, matey,” the man hastened to say. “I’ve no money for them doctors.”
“Ha!” coughed Mr. Parlow. “It’s not a matter of dollars—Well, Mandy, if you think you can fix him up all right——”
The nurse was ready with lint and bandages and a dark, pleasant-smelling balsam in a bottle. Carolyn 163 May, who had untackled Prince on the porch, stood by, and watched Miss Amanda’s skilful fingers in wonder.
The old sailor did not even groan, so the child had no idea that the drops of perspiration that gathered on his brow, and which Miss Amanda finally wiped away so tenderly, were called into being by acute suffering.
When the last bandage was adjusted and the injured man’s eyes were closed, Mr. Parlow offered him a wine-glass of a home-made cordial. The sailor gulped it down, and the colour began to return to his cheeks.
“Where was you goin’, anyway?” demanded the carpenter. “This ain’t no good day to be travellin’ in. I don’t see what that child was a-thinkin’ on, to be out playin’ in such weather.”
“Lucky for me she was out,” said the sailor, more vigorously.
“Ya-as, I reckon that’s so,” admitted Mr. Parlow. “But, where was you goin’?”
“Lookin’ for a job, mate,” said the sailor. “There’s them in town that tells me I’d find work at Adams’ camp.”
“Ha! didn’t tell you ’twas ten mile away from here, did they?”
“Is it? Well, no, they didn’t tell me that,” admitted the visitor, “or I’d not started so late. You see, I come up on a schooner. This here lake boatin’ ain’t in my line. I’m deep-water, I am.” 164
“So I should s’pose,” said Mr. Parlow. “How’d you git up here, anyway?”
“The war,” said the visitor. “The war done it. Couldn’t git a good berth in any deep-water bottom. So I thought I’d try fresh-water sailin’. And now they tell me this here lake’ll be froze up solid and all the traffic stopped all winter long.”
“Likely to be,” admitted Mr. Parlow.
“Don’t it beat all?” murmured the sailor. “And me up in this cold country—and full of rheumatiz. I tell you, matey, I been workin’ as quartermaster’s mate on the old Cross and Crescent Line, a-scootin’ ’cross to Naples from N’York—there and back—goin’ on ten year. I ain’t goin’ to like it up here in this here cold, northern, snowbound country, I don’t believe.”
“What did you leave your boat for?” asked the carpenter curiously.
“What boat? This here lake schooner? I told you.”
“No. The other.”
“Oh, she was sunk. There’s things happenin’ over to the other side of the ocean, mate,” said the injured man earnestly, “that you wouldn’t believe—no, sir! The Cross and Crescent Line’s give up business till after the war’s over, I reckon.”
“You’d better not encourage him to talk any more, father,” interposed Miss Amanda, coming into the room again. “The best thing he can do for himself is to sleep for a while.” 165
“Thank ye, ma’am,” said the sailor humbly. “I’ll try.”
The carpenter went back to work. Miss Amanda took Carolyn May out into the kitchen. She looked at her rather curiously, and once she seemed about to speak seriously—perhaps about the injured sailor. Carolyn May sidetracked this, however, by asking:
“Don’t you think Prince is a very brave dog, Miss Amanda? You know, he’s almost like those Saint Bernard dogs that live in the Yalps and carry blankets and cunning little barrels around their necks to folks that get lost in the snow. You have seen pictures of ’em, haven’t you, Miss Amanda?”
“Yes, my dear,” agreed the pretty nurse, smiling.
“Only I never knew what the barrels were for,” admitted Carolyn May. “Now, if the dogs found the poor men in the water, drownding, maybe the barrels would float and help keep ’em from sinking.”
“I hardly think it probable that the barrels were for that purpose,” said Miss Amanda, laughing.
“Anyway,” urged Carolyn May, “Prince is just as brave as those other dogs.”
“Indeed, yes,” agreed the woman. “And I think that a certain little girl is very brave, too.”
“Oh, but I couldn’t have got the poor gentleman here, if it hadn’t been for Prince.”
“Quite true. And he deserves a reward for that. We’ll call him in and give him a party,” said Miss Amanda. “I have been saving some chicken bones for him.” 166
“Oh, my dear!” cried Carolyn May, “he just adores chicken bones. You are the very kindest lady, Miss Amanda! I love you, heaps and heaps—and so does Prince.”
Darkness came on apace. The sky had become overcast, and there was promise of a stormy night—more snow, perhaps. But Miss Amanda would not allow Carolyn May and Prince to start for home at once.
“Watch for your uncle, Carolyn May, out of the front-room window, and be all ready to go with him when he comes along,” said Miss Parlow. “No, it isn’t time for him yet. When the clock says ten minutes to five you can begin to look for him.”
“Oh, my! Miss Amanda,” said Carolyn May wonderingly, “how well you know his time for coming home, don’t you?”
Miss Amanda blushed and did not appear to think that question needed an answer. After that she seemed much preoccupied in mind.
When Uncle Joe came along, Carolyn May ran out and hailed him from the porch.
“Wait for me, Uncle Joe! Wait for me and Princey, please! Just let me get my mittens and Prince’s harness and kiss Miss Mandy.”
That last she did most soundly, and in full view of the man waiting in the white road. Miss Amanda’s tenderness, as she knelt on the porch to button Carolyn May’s coat, was marked by the hardware dealer—and also her shining brown hair and 167 her eyes so bright and sparkling. But he made no comment on this picture when his little niece joined him.
“Oh, Uncle Joe, I’ve got just the wonderfulest story to tell you! Shall we harness Prince up again, or will you——”
“I can’t wait for the dog, Car’lyn May. I’m in a hurry. You oughtn’t to be out in this wind, either. Get aboard your sled, now, and I’ll drag you myself,” Mr. Stagg interrupted.
She obeyed him gaily. When he started off, she turned to wave her mittened hand to Miss Amanda, who still stood on the porch. But the door of the carpenter shop, where a lamp burned, was shut tightly.
“That woman will get her death of cold,” grumbled Uncle Joe, starting off at a round pace. “Don’t know enough to go in out o’ the cold.”
But Amanda Parlow did not notice the cold. She was thinking of a time, oh, so long ago! when Joe Stagg had seated her on his bright red sled and given her a ride. How her heart had beat when he had turned to gaze at her! And now—Slowly her eyes filled with tears, and again:
“Oh, Joe! Joe! How could you?”