Chapter XIV: Fallen Bricks

"WHAT'S that?" exclaimed Archie.

They were treading the brick-fields side by side—not in darkness, but in clear moonlight. It streamed down upon the wide flat expanse, lending weirdness to the long lines of piled new bricks. Not far off a kiln stood up like a small island.

The two listened attentively.

"I didn't hear anything," Dunn said.

Archie sighed. "It must have been my fancy," he said. "But I thought—Well, she don't seem to be hereabouts, any way."

"We'll make more sure before we give up," said Dunn.

"I can't think how ever I could be such a fool," broke out the young man. "To leave her all those hours alone! And just because she was vexed with me. Why, I might have known she meant nothing by it, really. You don't think she's staying away because she's angry yet?" he asked dubiously.

"No, that I don't," Dunn answered. "It don't sound mother-like. You've not told me what it was that angered her so, and I'm not a good judge without knowing; but it does seem to me a deal more likely that she just went hunting after you. I can't believe the other."

"Nor I," said Archie.

"Sh-h-h!" Dunn exclaimed in his turn.

And the sound of a groaning murmur—"O dear—deary! O dear—my poor foot! O dear—dear—dear—whatever shall I do?" came distinctly.

"Mother!" cried Archie.

"It's she, I do believe," said Dunn. "Steady, lad—don't run a-muck through the bricks."

"Mother! Where are you?" shouted Archie.

"O dear—dear—dear—please help me!" was groaned out again.

"This way! Look-out! Steady, lad!"

And in another minute they came on the tall figure of Mrs. Stuart, seated on the ground, bowing to and fro as if in great pain, and keeping up a continuous groan.

"Mother, are you hurt?" cried Archie. "What's kept you here? We couldn't think whatever had become of you. Why, mother! Have you had a tumble? What's the matter?"

"O dear, dear! I don't know how to bear it! O my poor foot!" And Mrs. Stuart swayed herself to and fro. "O deary me! I thought you'd never come! I thought nobody 'd ever find me! I thought I should die here, all alone! O dear me!"

"She's hurt her foot somehow. Ask her what it is," Dunn said in an undertone to Archie.

"Mother, what's the matter?" inquired Archie again. He stooped down, and touched the foot which seemed to be the cause of her trouble; whereupon Mrs. Stuart screamed.

"O don't! O deary me! I shall die of the pain, I know I shall. And if you hadn't gone and left me all that while, it wouldn't never have happened! Dear me! I thought I'd try to find you, and I came on a pocket-handkerchief of yours, lying on the brick-field—one of your very best—and I thought you'd gone along somewhere here. O dear me! O dear! And a lot of bricks was piled up, and I didn't see they were loose—and I just touched 'em, and they all came down on my poor foot. O dear, dear! And I haven't been able to move since. And I don't know whatever I'm to do—the pain's so bad. O deary me, I don't know how to bear it."

"Mother, we'll get you home," said Archie. "It won't be so bad then, I dare say. Somebody's there who'll help nicely. Dunn and I will get you home."

If Mrs. Stuart noticed the name, she paid no attention to it, but only kept on her persistent rocking and groaning.

"Let's have a look at the foot, missis," Dunn said kindly. "It's bad, though!" he muttered, after a slight inspection. "I doubt but the boot ought to come off—if she'd let me try."

"I'd sooner get her home first," said Archie; for Mrs. Stuart kept fencing them off with her hands, as if dreading the least touch.

A consultation took place, and Dunn started off at full speed for the nearest cottage. He had proposed a shutter as the easiest mode of conveyance; but Mrs. Stuart, overhearing the word, cried out against it. "She'd feel as if she was being carried to her grave," she said. "No, it was to be a chair." And though they knew that progression in a chair must mean the more suffering, they had to yield.

Mrs. Dunn, waiting in the cottage, had no intimation of their approach until they arrived. She had just gone to take another look at the kitchen fire, when groaning sounds of complaint at the front door drew her quickly thither.

"That's over now, isn't it?" Dunn said cheerfully, as he and Archie placed Mrs. Stuart on the black horse-hair couch in the small parlour. "That's over now, and it's been pretty hard to bear, too, hasn't it? Let's put the foot up—so—gently, lad—and now Susan must have a look at it. Eh, Susan, what d'you think? Shouldn't the boot come off?"

"O me, but it is bad!" exclaimed Susan, in a voice of consternation. "Why, I never saw such a foot. You poor thing, you! No, I daren't touch it, Richard, and I don't believe anybody ought, till the doctor comes. You'd best go straight off for him, and he'll say what ought to be done. I am sorry, now—you poor thing! It's bad, isn't it? Yes, I don't wonder you can't help crying," continued Susan tenderly. "But Richard 'll make great haste, and the doctor won't be long."

Archie was astonished. For there, actually, was Mrs. Stuart sobbing, with her head on Mrs. Dunn's shoulder, and there was little plump motherly Mrs. Dunn petting and coaxing great tall Mrs. Stuart, like one of her own children.

"I'd go this very minute, if I was you, Richard," she continued. "I wouldn't stop a moment. The poor thing don't know how to bear herself, hardly. I dare say the doctor isn't far off." And she looked at Archie.

"Mr. Rawdon? No, he isn't far," said Archie. "You'd like Mr. Rawdon best, wouldn't you, mother? He came when you were ill, you know. She don't seem to hear," added Archie, turning to Dunn. "But Mr. Rawdon 'll come, I'm sure. He's our Mr. Rawdon's brother, and he's very clever. I'd best just walk along the street, and show you the turn—if you won't mind going. And then I can come back."

Which plan being followed out, Mr. Rawdon in no long time made his appearance.

He was not very unlike his brother, Dunn's new employer,—a man of medium height and strong build, grey-haired, quiet in manner, sparing of words, with short-sighted spectacles covering eyes of no particular colour. On first coming in, he said nothing at all, beyond a brief "Good evening," but sat down to examine the foot. A pen-knife in his hand speedily ripped up the boot; and silence followed.

Next came a question or two as to the manner of accident. Mrs. Stuart enlarged sobbingly on her sensations in the brick-field, with a digression about the lost handkerchief—"One of Archie's very best, as I had marked for him so particular!" she averred. A touch brought in a shriek here, and Mrs. Stuart clutched at Mrs. Dunn for comfort.

"Well," Mr. Rawdon said at length, raising himself from his stooping posture, "it's a bad foot, no doubt. Many in my place would take it off at once. But I think I can save it for you, if—"

He was interrupted. Mrs. Stuart cried out lustily. Lose her foot! She'd sooner die—a great deal sooner. Life wasn't worth so very much, she was sure! A poor woman with no end of troubles and bothers! She wouldn't have her foot cut off, not she—if that was what the doctor meant. She was much obliged, all the same. Much sooner die! Mr. Rawdon heard all this and more composedly. When her ejaculations came to a pause, he said only—

"I think I can save you the foot, if you are careful to do as you are told."

"I'm not a-going to have my foot taken off. No, not for nobody," said Mrs. Stuart.

"It will, I hope, be unnecessary. I shall bind it up for you now, and you will go to bed."

"I'd sooner die—a deal sooner; if it was fifty times over!" cried Mrs. Stuart.

Mr. Rawdon was examining the foot again. He raised himself, looked at her, and asked:

"Mrs. Stuart, have you ever stood face to face with death, that you can speak of it so lightly?"

For the moment, Mrs. Stuart was silenced.