Part 53 (2/2)

I turned my hot face on the pillow and lay a-thinking. The doctor laid back my blanket, looked at my hurts, then covered me.

”You do well,” he said. ”In two weeks you shall be out o' bed. Bones must knit and wounds scar before you carry pack again. And before your lung is strong you shall need six months rest ere you take the field.”

Aghast at such news, I asked him the true nature of my hurts, and learned that Balty's bullet had broken three ribs into my right lung, then, glancing, had made a hole clean through my thigh, but not splintering the bone.

”That Oneida girl of Thomas Spencer's saved you,” said he, ”for she picked out the burnt wadding and bits of cloth, cleaned and checked the hemorrhage, and purged you. And there was no gangrene.

”She did all that anybody could have done; but the cold had already seized your lung before she arrived, and it was that which involved you so desperately.”

After a silence: ”Good G.o.d, doctor! _Six months_!”

”Six months before you take the field, sir.”

”A half year of idleness? Why, that can not be, sir----”

”It is better than eternity in a coffin, sir,” said he quietly.

Then he came and took my hand, saying that orders had come directing him to join our Northern Army at Crown Point, and that he was to set off within the hour.

”A little nursing and continued rest are all you now require,” said he; ”and so I leave you without anxiety, Mr. Drogue.”

I strove to express my deep grat.i.tude for his service to me; he pressed my hand, smilingly:

”If you would hasten convalescence,” said he, ”seek to recover that serenity of mind which is a surer medicine than any in my phials.”

At the door he turned and looked back to me:

”I think,” said he in an embarra.s.sed voice, ”that you have really no true reason for unhappiness, Mr. Drogue. If you have, then my experience of men and women has taught me nothing.”

With that he went; and I heard his sword and spurs through the hallway, and the outer door close.

What had he meant?

For a long while I pondered this. Then into my mind came another and inevitable question: _What_ had I said in my delirium?

I was hungry when Nick came.

”Well,” says he, grinning at me, ”our Continental saw-bones permits this fat wild pigeon. And now I hope I shall have no more cursing to endure.”

Tears came into my eyes and I held out my hand. It was blanched white, and bony, and lay oddly in his great, brown paw.

”Lord,” says he, ”what a fright you have given us, John, what with coughing all day and night like a sick bullock----”

”I am mending, Nick.”

”So says Major Squills. Here, lad, eat thy pigeon. Does it smack? And here is a little Spanish wine in this gla.s.s to nourish you. I had three bottles of the Continentals ere they marched----”

”Marched! Have they departed?” I demanded in astonishment.

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