kind of faint, Old Till--just for a minute. You're all right
now," Kent said.

"Of course I'm all right!--I always was! I don't see what you're making
such a fuss about!" But the pale face belied his words.

Kent lifted the clumsily bandaged hand and unwound the handkerchief. It
was stained with blood.

"Oh, what have you done, Kent! You shouldn't have taken the bandage
off!" exclaimed Jot, in fright. "See how the blood is dripping from the
cloth!"

"It's nothing, I tell you!" growled Old Tilly. "Wind the thing up again!
It's only a nail tear!"

Old Tilly was swaying again, and they forced him gently back. The
little woman looked up startled.

"What is it, Jim? How did it happen?" she quavered.

Jim's face looked very sober. "I guess I better fetch the doctor," he
said. "He hurt it on a nail, he says. I won't stop to harness up--Old
Betty's used to bein' rode bareback."

He hurried away, followed by his wife. Jot was examining the torn wrist
tenderly. Some new, untried strength seemed to spring into the brown,
boyish face. It took on the lines of a man's.

"It's an artery, Kentie. I know, because the blood leaps up so when the
handkerchief is off. It can't have been bleeding all night. I don't
understand."

"It bled some last night," said Old Tilly, "but I stopped it. I guess I
hit it someway just now against the table. It began again worse than
ever. Cover it up, can't you? It's--all--right!"

"It isn't all right! Get me a little stick, quick, Kentie! No, that
fork'll do. Hand it here. This bleeding's got to stop."

It seemed odd that it should be Jot--little, wild, scatter-brained Jot--
who should take the lead in that calm, determined way. What had come to
the boy? With pale face and set teeth he quietly bound the handkerchief
tightly above the wrist, and, inserting the fork handle in the knot,
twisted it about. The bleeding lessened--stopped.

"There! Now, if I keep a good grip on it--oh, I say, Kentie, wasn't I
afraid I couldn't work it!" he said, breathing hard.

"I don't see how you did work it! I don't see how you ever thought of
it, Jot Eddy!"

"Well, I did. I read how it was done, up in the consultery. Father may
laugh, but I'm going to be a doctor!"

Kent's face was full of new-born respect. He suddenly remembered that
it was Jot who had set "Rover's broken leg and nursed the little sick
calf that father set such store by.

"I guess father won't laugh." Kent said