“You may; and if you do, I will answer ‘Yes.’”
“You are an angel!” exclaimed the Major.
They expressed their emotion in a very usual manner, which need not be described. When the carriage turned into the street upon which Pandora lived, she said,—
“Henry dear,—I may call you Henry, mayn’t I?—where is your leg?”
“I left it squirming about in the church porch.”
“No; I mean your real one, dear. The leg that was shot off.”
“I haven’t the least idea. Buried, I suppose.”
Pandora was silent and thoughtful for a moment. Then she said,—
“Isn’t it barely possible that one of those legs preserved at the Medical Museum is yours?”
“Well, I declare I never thought of that! Perhaps mine is there.”