"Next day came, and the relatives and friends were delighted, for the
pain was nearly all gone, and the injured man lay very still.
"`He'll soon get well now,' they said; and they went away full of hope
and quite satisfied; but the monk, after he had given the patient some
refreshing drink, went out into his garden among his trees, and then
after walking about in the sunny walk under the old stone wall, he
stopped by the mossy seat by the sun-dial, and stood looking down at the
gnomon, whose shadow marked the hours, and sighed deeply as he thought
how many times the shadow would point to noon before his poor patient
was dead."
"Why, I thought he was getting better," I said.
"Carry your ladder to the next tree, Grant," said the old gentleman,
"and you shall work while I prattle."
I obeyed him, and this time I had a great apple-tree bough to operate
upon with the thin saw. I began using the saw very gently, and
listening, for I seemed to see that monk in his long grey garment, and
rope round his waist, looking down at the sun-dial, when Old Brownsmith
went on slowly: "He knew it could not be long first, for the man's leg was crushed and
the bone splintered so terribly that it would never heal up, and that
the calm sense of comfort was a bad sign, for the limb was mortifying,
and unless that mortification was stopped the man must die."
"Poor fellow!" I ejaculated, for the old man told the story with such
earnestness that it seemed to be real.
"Yes, poor fellow! That is what the monk said as he thought of all the
herbs and decoctions he had made, and that not one of them would stop
the terrible change that was going on. He felt how helpless he was, and
at last, Grant, he sat down on the mossy old stone bench, and covering
his face with his hands, cried like a child."
"But he was a man," I said.
"Yes, my lad; but there are times when men are so prostrated by misery
and despair that they cry like women--not often--perhaps only once or
twice in a man's life. My monk cried bitterly, and then he jumped up,
feeling ashamed of himself, and began walking up and down. Then he went
and stood by the great fish stew, where the big carp and tench were
growing fatter as they fed by night and basked in the sunshine among the
water weeds by day; but no thought came to him as to how he could save
the poor fellow lying in the cell."
Old Brownsmith stopped to blow his nose on a brown-and-orange silk
handkerchief, and stroke two or three cats, while I sawed away very
slowly, waiting for what was to come.