"Just hold him quiet," said Ellen, "till I have a look"--and she
rapidly ran her fingers over the wound. "Very bad. I think there
must be a bit of the skull pressing on the brain. We can't do much
till the Doctor comes. I think he will be quiet now. Will you make
a fire and boil some water, so that I can clean and dress the wound
That will ease him a little. And get the blankets in; we can make
up some sort of place on the floor to sleep. One of us will have
to watch all night. Cranny, you must go to bed, do you hear? Come
and sit by Mick till I put Granny to bed."
By degrees they got things shipshape--put the old woman to bed,
and cleaned and dressed Mick's wounds. Then they settled down for
the long night in the sick-room. A strange sick-room it was; but
many a hospital is less healthy. Through wide cracks between the
slabs there came in the cool, fresh air that in itself is worth
more than all the medicines in the pharmacopoeia. The patient had
sunk into an uneasy slumber when Ellen made her dispositions for
the night.
"You go and lie down now," she said, "in the other room, on the
sofa. I will call you if I want you. Get all the sleep you can,
and in a couple of hours you can take my place. He may talk, but
don't let that disturb you. I will call out loud enough if I want
you.
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