"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." "Oh dear me!" said Phonny. "Oh, go and call my mother. Oh dear me!" Dorothy began to pull off Phonny's boot, while Stuyvesant went to call Phonny's mother. Mrs. Henry was very much alarmed, when she heard that Phonny had cut himself. She hurried out to him, and seemed to be in great distress and anxiety. She kneeled down before him, while Dorothy held him in her lap, and examined the foot. The cut was a pretty bad one, just above the ankle. "It is a very bad place for a cut," said she. "Bring me some water." "I'll get some," said Stuyvesant.