"Why, yes, I suppose so. So many people have. It is less than some of the savages bear. What horrid things they do to their captives,--and even to some of their own boys! And they bear it."

"Yes; but you are not a savage."

"But one may be as brave, without being a savage. Think of the martyrs that were burnt, and some that were worse than burnt! And they bore it."

Mr Shaw perceived that Hugh was either in much less pain now, or that he forgot everything in a subject which always interested him extremely.

He told his uncle what he had read of the tortures inflicted by savages, till his uncle, already a good deal agitated, was quite sick: but he let him go on, hoping that the boy might think lightly in comparison of what he himself had to undergo. This could not last long, however. The wringing pain soon came back; and as Hugh cried, he said he bore it so very badly, he did not know what his mother would say if she saw him. She had trusted him not to fail; but really he could not bear this much longer.

His uncle told him that n.o.body had thought of his having such pain as this to bear: that he had often shown himself a brave little fellow; and he did not doubt that, when this terrible day was over, he would keep up his spirits through all the rest.

Hugh would have his uncle go down to tea. Then he saw a gown and shawl through the curtain, and started up; but it was not his mother yet. It was only Mrs Watson come to sit with him while his uncle had his tea.

Tea was over, and the younger boys had all gone up to bed, and the older ones were just going when there was a ring at the gate. It was Mrs Proctor; and with her the surgeon from London.

"Mother! Never mind, mother!" Hugh was beginning to say; but he stopped when he saw her face,--it was so very pale and grave. At least, he thought so; but he saw her only by fire-light; for the candle had been shaded from his eyes, because he could not bear it. She kissed him with a long, long kiss; but she did not speak.

"I wish the surgeon had come first," he whispered, "and then they would have had my foot off before you came. When _will_ he come?"

"He is here,--they are both here."

"Oh, then, do make them make haste. Mr Tooke says I shall go to sleep afterwards. You think so? Then we will both go to sleep, and have our talk in the morning. Do not stay now,--this pain is _so_ bad,--I can't bear it well at all. Do go, now, and bid them make haste, will you?"

His mother whispered that she heard he had been a brave boy, and she knew he would be so still. Then the surgeons came up, and Mr Shaw.

There was some bustle in the room, and Mr Shaw took his sister down-stairs, and came up again, with Mr Tooke.

"Don't let mother come," said Hugh.

"No, my boy, I will stay with you," said his uncle.

The surgeons took off his foot. As he sat in a chair, and his uncle stood behind him, and held his hands, and pressed his head against him, Hugh felt how his uncle's breast was heaving,--and was sure he was crying. In the very middle of it all, Hugh looked up in his uncle's face, and said,--

"Never mind, uncle! I can bear it."

He did bear it finely. It was far more terrible than he had fancied; and he felt that he could not have gone on a minute longer. When it was over, he muttered something, and Mr Tooke bent down to hear what it was. It was--

"I can't think how the Red Indians bear things so."

His uncle lifted him gently into bed, and told him that he would soon feel easy now.

"Have you told mother?" asked Hugh.

"Yes; we sent to her directly."

"How long did it take?" asked Hugh.

"You have been out of bed only a few minutes--seven or eight, perhaps."

"Oh, uncle, you don't mean really?"

"Really: but we know they seemed like hours to you. Now, your mother will bring you some tea. When you have had that, you will go to sleep: so I shall wish you good-night now."

"When will you come again?"

"Very often, till you come to me. Not a word more now. Good-night."

Hugh was half asleep when his tea came up, and quite so directly after he had drunk it. Though he slept a great deal in the course of the night, he woke often,--such odd feelings disturbed him! Every time he opened his eyes, he saw his mother sitting by the fire-side; and every time he moved in the least, she came softly to look. She would not let him talk at all till near morning, when she found that he could not sleep any more, and that he seemed a little confused about where he was,--what room it was, and how she came to be there by fire-light.

Then she lighted a candle, and allowed him to talk about his friend Dale, and several school affairs; and this brought back gradually the recollection of all that had happened.

"I don't know what I have been about, I declare," said he, half laughing. But he was soon as serious as ever he was in his life, as he said, "But oh! Mother, tell me,--do tell me if I have let out who pulled me off the wall."

"You have not,--you have not indeed," replied she. "I shall never ask.

I do not wish to know. I am glad you have not told; for it would do no good. It was altogether an accident."

"So it was," said Hugh; "and it would make the boy so unhappy to be pointed at! Do promise me, if I should let it out in my sleep, that you will never, never tell anybody."

"I promise you. And I shall be the only person beside you while you are asleep, till you get well. So you need not be afraid.--Now, lie still again."

She put out the light, and he did lie still for some time; but then he was struck with a sudden thought which made him cry out.

"O, mother, if I am so lame, I can never be a soldier or a sailor.--I can never go round the world!"

And Hugh burst into tears, now more really afflicted than he had been yet. His mother sat on the bed beside him, and wiped away his tears as they flowed, while he told her, as well as his sobs would let him, how long and how much he had reckoned on going round the world, and how little he cared for anything else in the future; and now this was just the very thing he should never be able to do! He had practised climbing ever since he could remember;--and now that was of no use;--he had practised marching, and now he should never march again. When he had finished his complaint, there was a pause, and his mother said--

"Hugh, do you remember Richard Grant?"

"What,--the cabinet-maker? The man who carved so beautifully?"

"Yes. Do you remember--No, you could hardly have known: but I will tell you. He had planned a most beautiful set of carvings in wood for a chapel belonging to a n.o.bleman's mansion. He was to be well paid,--his work was so superior; and he would be able to make his parents comfortable, as well as his wife and children. But the thing he most cared for was the honour of producing a n.o.ble work which would outlive him. Well, at the very beginning of his task, his chisel flew up against his wrist: and the narrow cut that it made,--not more than half an inch wide,--made his right-hand entirely useless for life. He could never again hold a tool;--his work was gone,--his business in life seemed over,--the support of the whole family was taken away--and the only strong wish Richard Grant had in the world was disappointed."

Hugh hid his face with his handkerchief, and his mother went on:

"You have heard of Huber."

"The man who found out so much about bees. Miss Harold read that account to us."

"Bees and ants. When Huber had discovered more than had ever been known before about bees and ants, and when he was sure he could learn more still, and was more and more anxious to peep and pry into their tiny homes, and their curious ways, Huber became blind."

Hugh sighed, and his mother went on:

"Did you ever hear of Beethoven? He was one of the greatest musical composers that ever lived. His great, his sole delight was in music.

It was the pa.s.sion of his life. When all his time and all his mind were given to music, he became deaf--perfectly deaf; so that he never more heard one single note from the loudest orchestra. While crowds were moved and delighted with his compositions, it was all silence to him."

Hugh said nothing.

"Now, do you think," asked his mother,--and Hugh saw by the grey light that began to shine in, that she smiled--"do you think that these people were without a heavenly Parent?"

"O no! But were they all patient?"