Part 69 (2/2)
The surgery in these cases was simple and effectual. It consisted in thrusting a pin, sometimes two, through the skin which formed the lips of the wound, and then twisting a piece of thread round and round the pin, pa.s.sing it first under the head, and then under the point, the result being that the wound was drawn close, and so retained with a pad of thread. This rough treatment generally proved sufficient, and while the treatment was in progress the poor animals stood patiently turning their great, soft, earnest eyes upon the operator with a mournful look which seemed to say, ”Don't hurt me more than you can help.” Sometimes, but these were the exceptions, when instead of the above a stab had to be attended to, and a plug of flax thrust in, the horse would start, and give an angry stamp with its hoof, but only to stand patiently again, as if it resigned itself to its master, who must know what was best.
The general soon gave orders to continue the march, for he knew that the longer they stayed the stiffer and sorer his force would be; and once more the retreat was continued in a south-westerly direction, while, as the afternoon began to grow old, Samson, after having been very silent for a long time, turned sharply round.
”What are you thinking about, Master Fred?”
”I was wondering whether Scarlett Markham will behave as well to my mother as I did to his.”
”He'd better,” said Samson, fiercely. Then, after a pause, ”Oh, I don't feel afraid about that, sir. He's sure to. You see, he's a gentleman, and there's a deal in being a gentleman. He'll take care of her, never fear. That's not what I was thinking.”
”What were you thinking, then?” said Fred, anxiously.
”Well, sir, to speak the plain, downright, honest truth, as a Coombeland man should, whether he be a soldier or a gardener--”
”Yes, yes. Go on. You talk too much, Samson,” said Fred, pettishly, for he was faint and sore.
”Well, sir, suppose I do. But I aren't neglecting anything, and there's nothing else to do. Seems quite a rest to hear one's self speak.”
”Then speak out, and say what you were thinking.”
”I was thinking, sir, that I wish I was a horse just now.”
”A horse? Why?”
”So as I could have a good fill of water, and keep on taking a bite of sweet fresh green gra.s.s.”
”Why, Samson!”
”Ah, you don't know, Master Fred. I'm that hungry, it wouldn't be safe to trust me anywhere near meat; and not so much as a turnip anywhere, nor a chance to catch a few trout. I wish I could tickle a few; I'd eat 'em raw.”
”I'm sorry, Samson, and I haven't a sc.r.a.p of food with me.”
”No, sir, nor n.o.body else. You see, we were all out for exercise, and not on the march, with our wallets full. And that aren't the worst of it. Master Fred, I could lie down and cry.”
”Because you are so hungry?”
”No, sir; but when I think of what we've left behind at the Hall.
Ducks, sir, and chickens; and there was hams. Oh!” groaned Samson, laying his hand just below his heart, ”those hams!”
Fred was weak, tired, faint, and low-spirited, but the doleful aspect of his henchman was so comic that he burst into a fit of laughter.
”Well, Master Fred,” said the ex-gardener, letting the reins rest on the horse's neck, as he involuntarily tightened his belt, ”I did think better of you than to s'pose you'd laugh at other folk's troubles. Then there was the cider, too. It wasn't so good as our cider at the Manor, sir, for they hadn't got the apples at the Hall to give it the flavour, spite of old Nat's bragging and boasting; but still, it wasn't so very bad for a thirsty man, though I will say it was too sharp, and some I tasted yesterday told tales.”
”What of, Samson?”
”My lazy, good-for-nothing brother, sir,” said Samson, triumphantly.
”Told tales of your brother--of Nat?”
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