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“I should say so. Give it time, and the leg ought to be good as new,” Master Puddifoot said, as he finished examining Primrose’s leg. He appeared completely oblivious to the interplay between Primrose and Will, but the same certainly could not be said of Cela. “Nothing more than a bumped head and hurt wrist,” she had assured Primrose. “Dick said he was up and moving. Don’t fret yourself over it, and don’t blame yourself either.” Indeed, it seemed to Cela that a bump on the head seemed to be just the thing Will needed to wake him up a bit as she watched him pat Primrose on the back of her hand and watch the doctor care for her rather anxiously.
Then the tea began to boil, and Cela quickly took it off the fire and poured two steaming cups. “Here, drink these,” she told Prim and Will. “It won’t taste great, but it will ease the pain.” They gratefully accepted the cups as the doctor began to speak again.
“Now,” he told Primrose, “This will probably hurt a bit, but the leg’s got to be straight so I can splint it, otherwise the bone will heal crooked.” Even to Cela, who was only watching, the process of setting the broken bone straight looked exceedingly painful, if mercifully short.
Gable chose that moment to reappear in the kitchen, and Cela gently shooed her out, telling her, “The doctor’s got it all under control now; Will and Primrose will be fine. You can go back to whatever you were doing before, and if we need you for anything, we’ll let you know.”
As the kitchen door swung shut behind Gable, Cela realized with some alarm that she ought to be following her own advice: noon was fast approaching, and lunch wasn’t near ready! She quickly set to her cooking: cheese and fruit and bread to be readied, soup to be made – but all while still keeping half an eye on Primrose and Will.
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