Paul Prescott's Charge. Alger Horatio Jr.

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      “The boy feels a little sick, but I guess he’ll get over it by-and by. Haven’t you got a little soup that you can give him? I reckon he’s faint, and that’ll brighten him up.”

      Paul evidently did not think so, for he motioned away a bowl of the delightful mixture, though it was proffered him by the fair hands of Mrs. Mudge. The lady was somewhat surprised, and said, roughly, “I shouldn’t wonder if he was only trying to shirk.”

      This was too much even for Mr. Mudge; “The boy’s sick,” said he, “that’s plain enough; if he don’t get better soon, I must send for the doctor, for work drives, and I can’t spare him.”

      “There’s no more danger of his being sick than mine,” said Mrs. Mudge, emphatically; “however, if you’re fool enough to go for a doctor, that’s none of my business. I’ve heard of feigning sickness before now, to get rid of work. As to his being pale, I’ve been as pale as that myself sometimes without your troubling yourself very much about me.”

      “‘Twon’t be any expense to us,” alleged Mr. Mudge, in a tone of justification, for he felt in some awe of his wife’s temper, which was none of the mildest when a little roused, “‘Twon’t be any expense to us; the town has got to pay for it, and as long as it will get him ready for work sooner, we might as well take advantage of it.”

      This consideration somewhat reconciled Mrs. Mudge to the step proposed, and as Paul, instead of getting better, grew rapidly worse, Mr. Mudge thought it expedient to go immediately for the village physician. Luckily Dr. Townsend was at home, and an hour afterwards found him standing beside the sick boy.

      “I don’t know but you’ll think it rather foolish, our sending for you, doctor,” said Mrs. Mudge, “but Mudge would have it that the boy was sick and so he went for you.”

      “And he did quite right,” said Dr. Townsend, noticing the ghastly pallor of Paul’s face. “He is a very sick boy, and if I had not been called I would not have answered for the consequences. How do you feel, my boy?” he inquired of Paul.

      “I feel very weak, and my head swims,” was the reply.

      “How and when did this attack come on?” asked the doctor, turning to Mr. Mudge.

      “He was taken while hoeing in the field,” was the reply.

      “Have you kept him at work much there lately?”

      “Well, yes, I’ve been drove by work, and he has worked there all day latterly.”

      “At what time has he gone to work in the morning?”

      “He has got up to milk the cows about five o’clock. I used to do it, but since he has learned, I have indulged myself a little.”

      “It would have been well for him if he had enjoyed the same privilege. It is my duty to speak plainly. The sickness of this boy lies at your door. He has never been accustomed to hard labor, and yet you have obliged him to rise earlier and work later than most men. No wonder he feels weak. Has he a good appetite?”

      “Well, rather middlin’,” said Mrs. Mudge, “but it’s mainly because he’s too dainty to eat what’s set before him. Why, only the first day he was here he turned up his nose at the bread and soup we had for dinner.”

      “Is this a specimen of the soup?” asked Dr. Townsend, taking from the table the bowl which had been proffered to Paul and declined by him.

      Without ceremony he raised to his lips a spoonful of the soup and tasted it with a wry face.

      “Do you often have this soup on the table?” he asked abruptly.

      “We always have it once a day, and sometimes twice,” returned Mrs. Mudge.

      “And you call the boy dainty because he don’t relish such stuff as this?” said the doctor, with an indignation he did not attempt to conceal. “Why, I wouldn’t be hired to take the contents of that bowl. It is as bad as any of my own medicines, and that’s saying a good deal. How much nourishment do you suppose such a mixture would afford? And yet with little else to sustain him you have worked this boy like a beast of burden,—worse even, for they at least have abundance of GOOD food.”

      Mr. and Mrs. Mudge both winced under this plain speaking, but they did not dare to give expression to their anger, for they knew well that Dr. Townsend was an influential man in town, and, by representing the affair in the proper quarter, might render their hold upon their present post a very precarious one. Mr. Mudge therefore contented himself with muttering that he guessed he worked as hard as anybody, and he didn’t complain of his fare.

      “May I ask you, Mr. Mudge,” said the doctor, fixing his penetrating eye full upon him, “whether you confine yourself to the food upon which you have kept this boy?”

      “Well,” said Mr. Mudge, in some confusion, moving uneasily in his seat, “I can’t say but now and then I eat something a little different.”

      “Do you eat at the same table with the inmates of your house?”

      “Well, no,” said the embarrassed Mr. Mudge.

      “Tell me plainly,—how often do you partake of this soup?”

      “I aint your patient,” said the man, sullenly, “Why should you want to know what I eat?”

      “I have an object in view. Are you afraid to answer?”

      “I don’t know as there’s anything to be afraid of. The fact is, I aint partial to soup; it don’t agree with me, and so I don’t take it.”

      “Did you ever consider that this might be the case with others as well as yourself?” inquired the doctor with a glance expressive of his contempt for Mr. Mudge’s selfishness. Without waiting for a reply, Dr. Townsend ordered Paul to be put to bed immediately, after which he would leave some medicine for him to take.

      Here was another embarrassment for the worthy couple. They hardly knew where to put our hero. It would not do for them to carry him to his pallet in the attic, for they felt sure that this would lead to some more plain speaking on the part of Dr. Townsend. He was accordingly, though with some reluctance, placed in a small bedroom upstairs, which, being more comfortable than those appropriated to the paupers, had been reserved for a son at work in a neighboring town, on his occasional visits home.

      “Is there no one in the house who can sit in the chamber and attend to his occasional wants?” asked Dr. Townsend. “He will need to take his medicine at stated periods, and some one will be required to administer it.”

      “There’s Aunt Lucy Lee,” said Mrs. Mudge, “she’s taken a fancy to the boy, and I reckon she’ll do as well as anybody.”

      “No one better,” returned the doctor, who well knew Aunt Lucy’s kindness of disposition, and was satisfied that she would take all possible care of his patient.

      So it was arranged that Aunt Lucy should take her place at Paul’s bedside as his nurse.

      Paul was sick for many days,—not dangerously so, but hard work and scanty fare had weakened him to such a degree that exhausted nature required time to recruit its wasted forces. But he was not unhappy or restless. Hour after hour he would lie patiently, and listen to the clicking of her knitting needles. Though not provided with СКАЧАТЬ