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18 Going for the Doctor

           IwishedforJohn,buthehadeightmilestowalk,soIlaydowninmystrawandtriedtogotosleep.AfteralongwhileIheardJohnatthedoor;Igavealowmoan,forIwasingreatpain.Hewasatmysideinamoment,stoopingdownbyme.IcouldnottellhimhowIfelt,butheseemedtoknowitall;hecoveredmeupwithtwoorthreewarmcloths,andthenrantothehouseforsomehotwater;hemademesomewarmgruel,whichIdrank,andthenIthinkIwenttosleep.

           Johnseemedtobeverymuchputout.Iheardhimsaytohimselfoverandoveragain,“Stupidboy!stupidboy!noclothputon,andIdaresaythewaterwascold,too;boysarenogood;”butJoewasagoodboy,afterall.

           Iwasnowveryill;astronginflammationhadattackedmylungs,andIcouldnotdrawmybreathwithoutpain.Johnnursedmenightandday;hewouldgetuptwoorthreetimesinthenighttocometome.Mymaster,too,oftencametoseeme.“MypoorBeauty,”hesaidoneday,“mygoodhorse,yousavedyourmistress’life,Beauty;yes,yousavedherlife.”Iwasverygladtohearthat,foritseemsthedoctorhadsaidifwehadbeenalittlelongeritwouldhavebeentoolate.Johntoldmymasterheneversawahorsegosofastinhislife.Itseemedasifthehorseknewwhatwasthematter.OfcourseIdid,thoughJohnthoughtnot;atleastIknewasmuchasthis—thatJohnandImustgoatthetopofourspeed,andthatitwasforthesakeofthemistress.

           

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