This explanation, though not very luminous to her visitor, appeared to excite a fierce spirit of resentment against the pail in the mind of little Pomp.
He suddenly rushed forward impetuously and kicked the pail with all the force he could muster.
But, alas for poor Pomp! His feet were unprotected by shoes, and the sudden blow hurt him much more than the pail. The consequence was a howl of the most distressing nature.
Frank had started forward to rescue Pomp from the consequences of his precipitancy, but too late. He picked up the little fellow and, carrying him out, strove to soothe him.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Frost examined Chloe's injuries. They were not so great as she had anticipated. She learned on inquiry that the water had not been scalding hot. There was little doubt that with proper care she would recover from her injuries in a week or ten days. But in the meantime it would not do to use the foot.
"What shall I do, missus?" groaned Chloe. "I ain't got nothin' baked up. 'Pears like me and Pomp must starve."
"Not so bad as that, Chloe," said Mrs. Frost, with a reassuring smile. "After we have you on the bed we will take Pomp home with us, and give him enough food to last you both a couple of days. At the end of that time, or sooner, if you get out, you can send him up again."
Chloe expressed her gratitude warmly, and Mrs. Frost, calling in Frank's assistance, helped the poor woman to a comfortable position on the bed, which fortunately was in the corner of the same room. Had it been upstairs, the removal would have been attended with considerable difficulty as well as pain to Chloe.
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