“And no wonder, in this broiling sun. I venture to say you have had nothing to eat for hours and are tired as well.”
“That is about the truth. I was trying to get a sup of milk for Mrs. Gittings’s baby. See, she and her sister are over there, by that wagon at which the man is working. We came near having a breakdown and had to halt.”
“You were on your way to Virginia, then?”
“Yes.”
“That is good. I think perhaps I can help you. See, there is Tomlinson’s hotel; do you remember it?”
“Where the ball was held? Oh, yes.” She looked up at him and smiled, and for the first time noticed that his face did not wear its usual sunburnt hue. “You have been ill!” she exclaimed.
He held up a bandaged arm. “Yes, I have been. My hand and a bit of my forearm were shot away about a month ago.”
“Oh, and were you very ill?”
“So, so. We will not talk of it now. Come, I think we can get the desired milk in here. They know me well, for I put up here when I am in town.”
“And you have been here, how long?”