"I don't think I can ever forget it," I replied. The next moment I thought of my bygone mental peculiarity, and wondered if I should ever again be subjected to loss of memory. I decided to speak to Dr. Khayme once more about this matter. Although he had advised me in Charleston never to speak of it or think of it, he had only last night, referred to it himself.
"I must go now, Sergeant," said I; "can I do anything for you?"
"No, I think not."
"You are able to write your own letters?"
"Oh, yes; the nurse gives me a bed-table."
"Well, good-by."
"Say, Jones, you remember them straw stacks? Good-by, Jones. I'll be with the boys again before long."
In the afternoon I returned to the little camp and found the Doctor and Lydia. The Doctor was busy--writing. I reminded Lydia of her promise to tell me something about her life in the East.
"Where shall I begin?" she asked,
"Begin at the beginning," I said; "begin at the time I left Charleston."