"Bring up the barrel, Sammy," said the doctor. "I'm going up to the
house. I don't think I'll keep you waiting very long, Miss Jelliffe."
He hastened up, scrambling up the rocky path, and entered the house. I
followed him, perhaps rather indiscreetly. This queer atmosphere of
poverty had affected me, I think, and I suddenly became eager to see
whether I could not be of some help.
A woman had met him at the door, with an effort at a smile upon her thin,
seamed face, that was pale with scanty food and haggard from long
watching at night.
"Un do be sayin' as th' arm be better a lot," she informed him. Then she
stared at me, just for a moment, and smiled again.
"That's fine," said the doctor. "We'll have another look at it directly.
You can come in if you wish to, Miss Jelliffe."
There was nothing but just one fairly large room. The patient was lying
on a bed built of planks and his right arm was resting on a pillow,
wrapped up in an enormous dressing.
"You sure is a sight fer sore eyes ter see," said the man.
"I hope I'm one for sore arms too," said the doctor, cheerfully. Then he
turned to me.
"It would perhaps be best for you to leave for a few minutes, Miss
Jelliffe," he said. "It won't take long."
But I didn't feel that I could leave, and he began to cut through
bandages and dressings. Oh! Aunt Jennie dear! I didn't realize that
people could have such dreadful things the matter with them.
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