"Ah, Phonny," said he, when he came into the room, and saw Phonny lying upon the sofa, "and what is the matter with you?"

"I have cut my foot," said Phonny.

"Cut your foot!" rejoined the doctor, "could not you find any thing else to cut than your foot?"

Phonny laughed.

"I hope you have cut it in the right place," continued the doctor. "In cutting your foot every thing depends upon cutting it in the right place."

While the doctor was saying this, Mrs. Henry had drawn off Phonny's stocking, and was beginning to unpin the bandage.

"Stop a moment, madam," said the doctor. "That bandage is put on very nicely; it seems hardly worth while to disturb it. You can show me now precisely where the wound was."

Mrs. Henry then pointed to the place upon the bandage, underneath which the cut lay, and she showed also the direction and length of the cut.

"Exactly," said the doctor. "You could not have cut your ankle, Phonny, in a better place. A half an inch more, one side or the other, might have made you a cripple for life. You hit the right place exactly. It is a great thing for a boy who has a hatchet for a plaything, to know how to cut himself in the right place."

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE DOCTOR'S VISIT.]

The doctor then said that he would not disturb the bandage, as he had no doubt that the wound would do very well under the treatment which Mrs. Henry herself had administered. He said that in a few days he thought it would be nearly well.

It might be prudent, however, he added, not to walk upon that foot in the mean time. There might be some small possibility in that case, of getting the wound irritated, so as to bring on an inflammation, and that might lead to serious consequences.

The doctor then bade Phonny good-bye, telling him that he hoped he would be as patient and good-natured in bearing his confinement, as he had been dextrous in the mode of inflicting the wound. And so he went away.

CHAPTER X.

GOOD ADVICE.

Phonny was confined nearly a week with his wound. They moved the sofa on which he was lying up into a corner of the room, near Mrs. Henry's window, and there Stuyvesant and Malleville brought various things to him to amuse him.

He was very patient and good-natured during his confinement to this sofa. Wallace came to see him soon after he was hurt, and gave him some good advice in this respect.

"Now," said Wallace, "you have an opportunity to cultivate and show one mark of manliness which we like to see in boys."

"I should think you would like to see all marks of manliness in boys,"

said Phonny.

"Oh no," said Wallace. "Some traits of manly character we like, and some we don't like."

"What don't we like?" asked Phonny.

"Why--there are many," said Wallace, hesitating and considering. "We don't desire to see in boys the sedateness and gravity of demeanor that we like to see in men. We like to see them playful and joyous while they are boys."

"I thought it was better to be sober," said Phonny.

"No," said Wallace, "not for boys. Boys ought to be sober at proper times; but in their plays and in their ordinary occupations, it is better for them to be frolicsome and light-hearted. Their time for care and thoughtful concern has not come. The only way by which they can form good healthy const.i.tutions, is to run about a great deal, and have a great deal of frolicking and fun. Only they must be careful not to let their fun and frolicking give other people trouble. But we like to see them full of life, and joy, and activity, for we know that that is best for them. If a boy of twelve were to be as sage and demure as a man, always sitting still, and reading and studying, we should be afraid, either that he was already sick, or that he would make himself sick."

"Then I think that you ought to be concerned about Stuyvesant," said Phonny, "for he is as sage and demure as any man I ever saw."

Wallace laughed at this.

"There is a boy that lives down in the village that is always making some fun," said Phonny. "One evening he dressed himself up like a poor beggar boy, and came to the door of his father's house and knocked; and when his father came to the door, he told a piteous story about being poor and hungry, and his mother being sick, and he begged his father to give him something to eat, and a little money to buy some tea for his mother. His father thought he was a real beggar boy, and gave him some money. Then afterward he came in and told his father all about it, and had a good laugh.

"Then another day he got a bonnet and shawl of his sister f.a.n.n.y, and put them upon a pillow, so as to make the figure of a girl with them, and then he carried the pillow up to the top of the shed, and set it up by the side of the house. It looked exactly as if f.a.n.n.y was up there. Then he went into the house and called his mother to come out.

And when she got out where she could see, he pointed up and asked her whether f.a.n.n.y ought to be up there on the shed."

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE EFFIGY.]

Wallace laughed to hear this story.

"Then in a minute," continued Phonny, "the boy pointed off in another direction, and there his mother saw f.a.n.n.y playing safely upon the gra.s.s."

"And what did his mother say?" asked Wallace.

"She was frightened at first," replied Phonny, "when she saw what she supposed was f.a.n.n.y up in such a dangerous place; but when she saw how it really was, she laughed and went into the house."

"Do you think he did right, Wallace?" asked Stuyvesant.

"What do you think, Phonny?" asked Wallace.

"Why, I don't know," said Phonny.

"Do you think, on the whole, that his mother was most pleased or most pained by it?" asked Wallace.

"Most pleased," said Phonny. "She was not much frightened, and that only for a moment, and she laughed about it a great deal."

"Were you there at the time?" asked Wallace.

"Yes," said Phonny.

"What was the boy's name?" said Wallace.

"Arthur," said Phonny.

"Another day," continued Phonny, "Arthur was taking a walk with f.a.n.n.y, and he persuaded her to go across a plank over a brook, and when she was over, he pulled the plank away, so that she could not get back again. He danced about on the bank on the other side, and called f.a.n.n.y a savage living in the woods."

"And what did f.a.n.n.y do?" asked Wallace.

"Why, she was very much frightened, and began to cry."

"And then what did Arthur do?" asked Wallace.

"Why, after a time he put up the plank again and let her come home. He told her that she was a foolish girl to cry, for he only did it for fun."