The Red Book of Heroes | Page 6

on Cap's paw. Here is a boy who will make a fire for you,' he added, beckoning to a lad who was passing outside.
While the fire was kindling, Florence looked about to find the cloths. But the shepherd did not seem to have any, and her own little handkerchief would not do any good. Still, cloths she must have, and those who knew Miss Nightingale in after years would tell you that when she wanted things she got them.
'Ah, there is Roger's smock,' she exclaimed with delight. 'Oh, do tear it up for me; mamma will be sure to give me another for him.' So the vicar tore the strong linen into strips, and Florence wrung them out in the boiling water, as he had told her.
'Now, Cap, be a good dog; you know I only want to help you,' she cried, and Cap seemed as if he did know; for though a little tremble ran through his body as the hot cloth touched him, he never tried to bite, nor even groaned with the pain, as many children would have done. By and by the lump was certainly smaller, and the look of pain in Cap's eyes began to disappear.
Suddenly she glanced up at the vicar, who had been all this time watching her.
'I can't leave Cap till he is quite better,' she said. 'Can you get that boy to go to Embley and tell them where I am? Then they won't be frightened.' So the boy was sent, and Florence sat on till the setting sun shot long golden darts into the hut.
Then she heard the shepherd fumbling with the latch, as if he could not see to open it; and perhaps he couldn't, for in his hand he held the rope which was to put an end to all Cap's sorrows. But Cap did not know the meaning of the rope and only saw his old master. He gave a little bark of greeting and struggled on to his three sound legs, wagging his tail in welcome.
Roger could hardly believe his eyes, and Florence laughed with delight.
'Just look how much better he is,' she said. 'The swelling is very nearly gone now. But he wants some more compresses. Come and help me make them.'
'I think we can leave Roger to nurse Cap,' said the vicar, who had just returned from some of the neighbouring cottages. 'Your patient must have some bread and milk to-night, and to-morrow you can come to see how he is.'
'Yes, of course I shall,' answered Florence, and she knelt down to kiss Cap's nose before the vicar put her up on her pony.
[Illustration: Roger could hardly believe his eyes.]
Now, though Florence was so fond of flowers and animals and everything out of doors, she was never dull in the house on a wet day. In the first place, nothing was ever allowed to interfere with her lessons, and though the little girls had a good governess, their father chose the books they were to read and the subjects they were to study. Greek, Latin, and mathematics he taught them himself, and besides he took care that they could read and speak French, German, and Italian. They were fond of poetry, and no doubt some of the earliest poems of young Mr. Tennyson were among their favourites, as well as 'Lycidas' and the songs of the cavaliers. Parthy was a better artist and a cleverer musician than Florence, though she could sing and sketch; but both were good needlewomen, and could make samplers as well as do fine work and embroidery. When school-time was over and the rain was still coming down, they would run away to their dolls, who, poor things, were always ill, so that Florence might have the pleasure of curing them. And though before Cap's accident she had never heard of a compress, she could make nice food for them at the nursery fire, and bandage their broken arms and legs while Parthy held the wounded limb steady.
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When they grew older, they went abroad now and then with their parents, but Florence liked best being at home with her friends in the village, who were very proud of her wishing to take their pictures with her new photographic camera. If they had only known it, the children in their best clothes standing up very stiff and straight did not look half as pretty as the baskets of kittens with eyes half-innocent, half-wise, or the funny little pups, so round and fat. But the parents thought the portraits of their children the most beautiful things in the world, and had them put into hideous gilt frames and hung on the walls, where Florence could see them on her frequent visits.
Welcome as she was to all, it was