A Fortnight passed, after the evening when Doctor Joe had spoken to
Thomas of the mist in Jamie’s eyes, before he appeared again at The
Jug. It was early morning, and the family were at breakfast when he
breezed in, without knocking--for in that country folk do not knock as
they enter, and every one is welcome at all times.
“Well! Well!” he exclaimed. “Just in time, and I’m as hungry as an old
grampus. What is it? Fried whitefish! Margaret, you must have expected
me and read my mind, for I’d rather have fried whitefish for
breakfast, the way you cook them, than anything else I can think of!”
“Then I’m glad I cooked un,” laughed Margaret. “But you likes most
anything we _ever_ has.”
“That’s true, because you cook everything so well,” complimented
Doctor Joe, seating himself by Jamie. “I’m not much of a cook myself,
you know.”
“You’re a rare fine cook, now, _I_ thinks,” broke in David. “I always
likes your cookin’ when I eats un.”
“Anybody’s cooking is good to a husky, healthy lad like you,” laughed
Doctor Joe.
“We’re wonderful glad t’ see you, Doctor Joe,” said Thomas. “I’ve been
wonderin’, now, why you didn’t come over this fortnight. The boys
pulled over to Break Cove yesterday lookin’ for you, fearin’ you might
be ailin’.”
“And didn’t find me!” exclaimed Doctor Joe, helping himself liberally
to fish. “Well, the day after I was here I left for Fort Pelican to
meet the mail boat and get some medicines that I thought I might need
in the winter from the mail boat doctor, and to mail an important
letter. How have you all been?”
“Not so bad--except Jamie,” said Thomas. “His eyes are growin’
mistier.”
“Eh!” ejaculated Doctor Joe, looking down at Jamie. “Mistier, are
they? That’s what I’m here about--mostly--to see what we can do about
that mist. We’ll have a look at the eyes pretty soon, Jamie.”
“I’m thinkin’ _’tis_ truly a mist fallin’ thick, and holdin’ thick all
the time,” declared Jamie.
“We’ll see about that! We’ll see!” said Doctor Joe.
And after breakfast he again looked carefully into Jamie’s eyes, and
again asked Jamie many, many questions, and then walked out with
Thomas where they could talk alone.
“And what you think’n _now_ of Jamie’s eyes?” asked Thomas anxiously.
“’Tis a strange disease, and a serious one,” said Doctor Joe. “Inside
everybody’s eyes there’s a fluid forms. When the eyes are healthy the
fluid keeps working away naturally through small outlets. If the
outlets for the fluid get stopped, there’s no way for it to escape,
and it fills up inside until it presses on the eyes, and the sight
begins to fail, and after a time if the fluid is not let out the eyes
go blind. There’s only one way to cure the complaint, and that is by a
difficult and delicate operation for the purposes of opening the
passages and drawing the fluid out and relieving the pressure.”
“Do you mean--cuttin’ the eyes open?” asked Thomas in dismay.
“Yes,” said Doctor Joe, “and the cutting has to be done just right, or
it fails. I once knew a surgeon who sometimes succeeded in performing
the operation successfully, but he was in New York--a long, long way
from here. The letter I posted the other day in Fort Pelican was for
this doctor. I wrote to ask if he is still in New York, and if he is
there if he will operate on Jamie’s eye if we take the lad to him.”
“Suppose, now, he’ll do the cuttin’, how can we ever get Jamie to he?”
asked Thomas.
“I’ll take him on the mail boat. We can’t get away this fall, though,
for it isn’t likely I’ll get an answer before the Christmas mail,
after the boat has made her last fall trip. But,” continued Doctor
Joe, “I hope Jamie’s eyes will not be too misty by spring. If he loses
his sight before spring there’ll be no use operating, for then the
sight can’t be brought back.”
“And if--if the doctor cuts un--and he fails--what’ll happen to Jamie
then?” asked Thomas fearfully.
“He’ll be blind,” said Doctor Joe. “But if the doctor doesn’t do the
cutting Jamie will _surely_ go blind. This is the only chance to save
his sight.”
“An’ supposin’,” asked Thomas, “you gets no answer from the great
doctor, will Jamie have to go blind all his life?”
“Let us hope he’s there--let us pray he is,” said Doctor Joe.
“But suppose--suppose he’ll not be there. Be there no one else?”
Thomas insisted.
“I--don’t know,” admitted Doctor Joe. “I don’t know. Once I knew
another surgeon--a young man--who performed such operations, but he
went wrong and lost his skill and had to stop operating. I’d not like
to trust Jamie with him. But we’ll hope the great doctor is in New
York.”
They stood in silence for a little.
“Poor little lad! Poor little lad!” sighed Thomas, finally.
“’Tis hard,” sympathized Doctor Joe, who was fond of Jamie. “And
there’s another thing, Thomas,” he continued. “You and I must catch
more fur this year than we ever caught before, for there’s the mail
boat and another steamer to pay the passage on, and they charge a good
deal. Trowbridge & Gray pay good prices for fur, and pay cash. Let us
hope one of us will catch a silver fox. We’ll need it. I’ll put in all
I earn to help save Jamie’s sight.”
“Aye,” said Thomas, “We’ll do our best, and--Doctor Joe--I’m wonderful
thankful to you.”
“Thomas, I owe it to you to do everything I can for Jamie, even if I
didn’t want to do it so much for Jamie’s own sake,” and Doctor Joe’s
voice was strangely husky. “You’ve helped cure me of a dreadful
disease--I hope I’m cured--I pray God that I am--but I still need your
help and friendship to make me strong.”
“Me--cure you of something?” asked Thomas, mystified. “I was never
givin’ _you_ medicine, or curin’ _you_ of any ailment!”
“Yes--the best kind of medicine--your friendship--when I came here,
and ever since. Some day I’ll tell you about it, but not now--not yet,
Thomas Angus. Now we must think of Jamie, and do our best.”
“Aye, and do our best,” said Thomas.
Thomas Angus had always done his best with cheerful heroism, and how
he hoped now to improve upon the best is hard to guess. Down on The
Labrador every man must do his best all of the time if he would keep
the flour barrel filled and run no debt with traders. In that stern
land there can be no idling or wasting of time, and men work as though
it were a joy, and the folk endure hardships without ever knowing they
are hardships, and are happy, too, withal. Life there is grim and
real.
Every boy and every girl, too, learns early to do his or her part,
and accept what comes without complaint.
Young lad though he was, Jamie heard Doctor Joe’s verdict bravely, and
accepted his affliction as one of the ups and downs of life. Until now
he had been hoping each night when he went to sleep that when he
opened his eyes in the morning he would find that the mist had lifted
while he slept. Now this hope was gone. But there was still the hope
that some day the great doctor to whom Doctor Joe had written, would
cut the mist away, and hope is a wonderful thing for the building of
courage.
“Keep your grit, lad,” said Thomas. “Doctor Joe says you’ll find th’
mist gettin’ thicker and th’ world growin’ darker for a time, and I’m
thinkin’ you’ll need grit a plenty. Grit’s a great thing t’ have--a
stout heart like a man’s, now, and plenty o’ grit, is a wonderful
help.”
“I’ll keep my grit, _what_ever,” declared Jamie, “an’ I’ll keep my
heart stout, like a man’s.”
“That’s fine now! I’m proud o’ my fine, brave lad!” encouraged Thomas.
“I’ll be bound Doctor Joe’ll find a way sooner or later, by hook or by
crook, t’ lift th’ mist.”
The fishing season was at an end, and Thomas and the boys had made a
good catch. They had nearly enough salmon and trout salted in barrels
to pay for their winter’s supply of flour and pork, in barter, at the
post. This had never happened before, but this year there had been an
uncommon run of salmon.
“We’ll load un in th’ boat and take un to the post tomorrow,” said
Thomas, as they sat at tea on the evening when the last barrel was
headed. “’Tis a clever catch, and we has un when we needs un th’
most.”
“And I hopes,” said David, dipping a spoonful of molasses into his
tea, “’Twill be a fine year for fur, and us and Doctor Joe’ll sure get
th’ fur t’ pay for Jamie goin’ for th’ cure.”
“Pop’ll get th’ fur--Pop and Uncle Joe,” broke in Andy. “_Pop’s_ a
wonderful hunter.”
“We’ll get un if ’tis t’ be got,” declared Thomas. “Oh, aye, we’ll get
un.”
“There comes Doctor Joe,” Andy announced, as Doctor Joe, walking up
from the landing place, passed the window, singing in a rich tenor
voice:
“The worst of my foes are worries and woes,
And all about troubles that never come true.
And all about troubles that never come true.
The worst of my foes are worries and woes,
And all about troubles that never come true.”
“I wonder, now,” said Thomas, “if ’taint true--that song Doctor Joe is
singin’.”
Just then the door opened and in walked Doctor Joe himself.
“Always just in time!” he exclaimed.
“Set in! Set in!” said Thomas heartily, visibly cheered by Doctor
Joe’s coming.
“That I will,” accepted Doctor Joe. “I was lonely at Break Cove alone,
and I pulled over in the skiff for a chat, and to spend the night--and
to have a look at Jamie’s eyes.”
It was always a treat to have Doctor Joe with them for a night. When
he and Thomas lighted their pipes in the evening, and the big box
stove was crackling cheerily, he thrilled them with stories of other
and far-off lands. Thomas was no less interested than Margaret and the
boys in his wonderful tales of the great outside world, and of the
great city in which he had once lived--of the mighty buildings that
towered high, high up into the skies--of the rushing railway
trains--and their wonderful speed--of people so numerous that they
crowded one another on the streets, and where you might meet thousands
and thousands of people and never know one by name, and where half a
hundred families might live in a single house.
“I’d like wonderful well t’ have a look at un,” said Thomas, “but I
wouldn’t want t’ have t’ stay long in _such_ a place. There wouldn’t
be room t’ stretch.”
“No,” agreed Doctor Joe, “you wouldn’t care to stay there.”
“And how’s th’ huntin’?” asked David. “Seems like there wouldn’t be
game enough for ’em all t’ hunt, and I’m wonderin’, now, how they gets
their meat.”
Then Doctor Joe had to tell them about cattle and sheep, the great
stock ranges and stock yards, and how the animals were butchered and
the meat sold.
“I wouldn’t want t’ eat th’ meat of animals I raised up like that,”
declared Margaret. “’Tis wonderful hard and cruel t’ tie un up like
that and kill un. They don’t have a chance t’ get away, like th’ deer
has here.”
“But there are plenty of people there,” said Doctor Joe, “who eat the
meat every day without giving a thought to that, but who think it very
cruel to hunt and kill deer and other wild animals.”
“But th’ deer and wild game has a chance t’ get away and save
themselves,” insisted Margaret. “The poor cows and sheep don’t have a
chance at all. There must be wonderful strange folk in th’ world t’
think ’tis wrong t’ hunt deer.”
“I’m thinkin’,” suggested Thomas, “that th’ Lard puts cows and sheep
in th’ world for people t’ kill and t’ eat when they needs un. ’Tis
right for th’ folk there t’ kill th’ cows and sheep t’ get meat. ’Tis
right for us here t’ kill deer and such game as we can, t’ eat. We
couldn’t live without un. ’Tis th’ different ways th’ Lard has of
givin’ them meat an’ givin’ us meat.”
“That’s sound reasoning,” observed Doctor Joe.
And so they talked until bedtime, and then, at Thomas’s request Doctor
Joe read aloud from the scriptures, and Thomas offered an evening
prayer, for on The Labrador, where there are no churches, but where
folk live near to God, their Christian faith is great, and they do
not forget to give thanks for their blessings, and to worship Him.
Then Doctor Joe spread his blankets upon the floor, for in that
country visitors and travelers carry their beds with them, and there
is welcome and room enough for all in every house.
“I’ll stay and help you load your fish,” suggested Doctor Joe, when
they had eaten breakfast the following morning. “You’ve two good,
stout helpers, but an extra one, I take it, won’t be in the way.”
“’Twill be a great help,” said Thomas. “The boys finds th’ barrels
heavy liftin’, and an extra hand would help us wonderful much.”
“And get un done quicker,” suggested David, “and then we’ll get away
to th’ post on this tide.”
“All right,” said Doctor Joe, “let’s go to it.”
Below the house Thomas had built of stones and logs a short jetty,
which served as a wharf for loading and unloading his big boat. The
barrels of fish were rolled down to the jetty, and the boat brought
alongside.
“Now,” said Thomas, “’twill be easy work. Davy and Andy can roll the
barrels to us, Doctor Joe, whilst you and I lifts un down into the
boat and stows un. They’re a bit heavy, but we can manage without
troubling with a rope t’ lower un down, and ’twill save time.”
“All right,” agreed Doctor Joe. “Let them come, boys.”
[Illustration: “Aye, feel of un and rub the numbness out”]
“Aye,” laughed Davy, “we’ll let un come fast as ever you and Pop can
lift un.”
And so they were doing well enough, and making quick work of it, until
the last barrel came, and the boat was so crowded with cargo that the
standing room for Thomas and Doctor Joe was narrow and cramped.
“Have you a good footing there?” asked Doctor Joe, when the barrel was
balanced on the end of the jetty and they were ready for the lift.
“’Tis all right,” said Thomas, “let her come.”
And then Thomas slipped, and though Doctor Joe did his best to prevent
it, the barrel crashed down upon Thomas’s leg, and when Doctor Joe and
David lifted it and released him, Thomas discovered that he could not
stand upon the leg.
“She’ll soon be all right,” said Thomas. “She’s just numbed a bit with
the weight.”
“Let me feel of it,” suggested Doctor Joe, proceeding to examine the
leg.
“Aye, feel of un, and rub th’ numbness out,” said Thomas.
“Too bad! Too bad!” exclaimed Doctor Joe, presently. “The leg is
broken.”
And so indeed it proved.
Doctor Joe and the boys carried Thomas to the house and laid him in
his bunk. Then Doctor Joe cut some sticks of proper length and size
and wrapped them with pieces of old blanket, and with David’s help
set the leg and deftly bound the splints into place with bandages
which Margaret had quickly prepared under his direction as he worked.
“There you are,” he said, finally, standing up and surveying his work.
“Does it feel comfortable, Tom?”
“Not so bad,” answered Thomas. “Will th’ lashin’s hold, now?”
“I’ll warrant that!” assured Doctor Joe.
“And is she like t’ be straight and stout again when she heals?” asked
Thomas anxiously.
“Straight and stout as ever she was,” promised Doctor Joe, “but you’ll
have to lie still for a month or six weeks, and then you’ll be on
crutches for a time. I’ll look after you, Tom.”
“And I can’t go to my trappin’ grounds, then, before th’ New Year,
_what_ever?” Thomas asked anxiously.
“No--not before the New Year--whatever--nor after the New Year--not
this winter--I’m afraid,” said Dr. Joe, reluctantly.
A shadow passed over Thomas’s face, but he said nothing.
“I’m sorry,” sympathized Doctor Joe.
“’Twere a blessin’ you were here t’ mend un,” said Tom.
“Yes,” agreed Doctor Joe, “it was well I was here to set it.”
“I wouldn’t mind so much if ’tweren’t for Jamie,” continued Thomas.
“How, now, can we ever get th’ money t’ pay th’ lad’s way t’ have th’
great doctor cure him?”
But this was a question Doctor Joe could not answer, and he was sorely
troubled.
“Pop,” said Jamie, who had come close to his father’s bed, “we’ll keep
our grit, both of us, now.”
“Aye, lad, we’ll keep our grit, you and me,” and there was a choke in
Thomas’s voice as he reached for Jamie’s hand, which Jamie gave him
after passing it before his eyes in a vain effort to brush the mist
away, which was a habit with him of late.