"Can I do it?" asked Bessy, in a low timid tone. "No, I thank you, Miss Davenport," replied the doctor, with a quaint smile. "When I have a robin to operate upon, I will ask you to hold it, but not Goliath of Gath. Sir Richard, perhaps, or Mr. Thornton, will hold the arm; and we will reserve for you an easier task. Here, Miss Bessy, take the second bottle out of that little black-leather case there, and put about a teaspoonful in some water. Then stand here, while I seek for the ball; and give him the draught if you think he is likely to faint. We must guard against fatal syncope. Now, Hercules, if you are quite quiet, you shall have relief in a minute or two; and if you keep quiet you shall get well. Why, old Jenny, I did not see you. You can hold the hartshorn-and-water." "No, _I_ will do it, Doctor Christy," said Bessy. "I never have shrunk, and never wish to shrink, from that which is needful to help a fellow-creature." "I know you don't," answered the surgeon; and, baring his arm, he proceeded to place his patient in the proper position, and remove the bandages from the wound. Bessy turned her eyes away at first, and I could see her lip quiver a little with agitation; but I would not interfere; and Mr. Thornton, who was watching her face also, walked round and stood behind her, evidently believing that _she_ might faint sooner than the patient. The moment the operation began, however, she fixed her eyes upon the poor negro's face, and seemed to watch for any change. At the end of a minute or two (for the operation was a somewhat long one), she suddenly put the little cup to the man's lips, saying-- "Drink some of this, Hercules." He drank; and, almost at the same moment, Doctor Christy exclaimed,-- "I have got it! I have got it fast." "Oh, that is comfortable! Oh, that is cool!" cried the poor fellow, as the surgeon drew out the forceps, with the ball in their gripe. "Ay, and you will do well now, Hercules," said the surgeon. "That fellow must have been a bloody-minded scoundrel, to put two balls in the gun. You will do well now, I tell you." "Dar say I shall, Mas'r Christy," answered the negro; "I feels quite easy like, and I do think I could fall asleep if Missy Bessy would but sing just a little bit. Many a time I'se stood to hear you a' singing under the window at old Beavors." "That I will, Hercules, if it can do you any good," answered Bessy. And, sitting down on the little stool, with a voice that trembled, but was yet exquisitely sweet, she sung the negro song I have mentioned before-- "The shocking of the corn."