“Madam, it is not the bullet of the savage that’s killing your husband, but some more deadly sore. He needs medicine for the mind, rather than the body; and when he is himself, you had better call in the chaplain to converse with him.”
An hour later, when Mr. Jones had an easy interval, she gently said,–
“Husband, you are very sick. Don’t you think it might do you good to have a little talk with the minister?”
“Minister!” he feebly answered; “what minister?”
“The minister that belongs to the fort.”
“I don’t know him,” replied the sick man, suspiciously. “But there is one minister that I do know,” he added, after a moment’s pause.
“Who?” she inquired.
“Why, him!” he answered, impatiently, as if he thought she ought to understand.
“You mean the missionary,” she returned.
“Yes; if I could talk with him, I would like to.”