fire."

"Hoh!" said Phonny, "that would not do at all."

"It would be better than to make Aunt Henry feel anxious," said
Stuyvesant.

"But I don't think she feels anxious," said Phonny. "She will forget
all about it pretty soon. However, if you think it is best, I will
carry my hatchet in and give it to her. We can get along very well
with the draw shave."

"Well," said Stuyvesant, "I do think it is best; and now I am going to
finish mending the wheel-barrow."

"Well," said Phonny, "and I will go and carry the hatchet in to my
mother."

Phonny accordingly took the hatchet and went sauntering slowly along
out of the shop.

In a few minutes, Stuyvesant heard an outcry in the yard. It sounded
like a cry of pain and terror, from Phonny. Stuyvesant threw down his
work, and ran out to see what was the matter.

He found Phonny by the woodpile, where he had stopped a moment to
chop a stick with his hatchet, and had cut himself. He was down upon
the ground, clasping his foot with his hands, and crying out as if in
great pain.

"Oh, Stuyvesant," said he. "I have cut my foot. Oh, I have cut my
foot, most dreadfully."

"Let me see," said Stuyvesant, and he came to the place. Phonny raised
his hands a little, from his foot, so as to let Stuyvesant see, but
continued crying, with pain and terror.

"Oh dear me!" said he. "What shall I do?--Oh dear me!"

Stuyvesant looked. All that he could see, however, was a gaping wound
in Phonny's boot, just over the ankle, and something bloody beneath.

"I don't think it is cut much," said Stuyvesant. "Let us go right into
the house."

Phonny rose, and leaning upon Stuyvesant's shoulder, he began to
hobble along toward the house, uttering continued cries and
lamentations by the way.

"I would not cry," said Stuyvesant. "I would bear it like a hero."

In obedience to this counsel, Phonny abated somewhat the noise that he
was making, though he still continued his exclamations and moanings.
Dorothy came to the door to find out what was the matter.

Dorothy was not much alarmed. In fact the more noise a child made when
hurt, the less concerned Dorothy always was about it. She knew that
when people were dangerously wounded, they were generally still.

"What's the matter?" said Dorothy.

"He has cut his foot," said Stuyvesant.

"Let me see," said she. So she looked down at Phonny's ankle.

"I guess he has cut his boot more than his foot," said she. "Let's
pull off his boot.