After that the doctor lapsed into silence and let things take their course. He knew instinctively that everything would be done for him, but he was not so sure about Pep. Some people appreciated dogs and some didn’t. He did not want any slight put on his little chum, now they had been through so much together.
So it was finally arranged that they should occupy the same ward; or, rather, Pep was given a rug to lie on under a small table at the head of the doctor’s bed. He was very comfortable here so near his beloved master.
The doctor, as he lay drowsing, would often hear the dog give deep sighs of content as he settled down in a more comfortable position on his rug.
The slightest movement on the part of the doctor would set the dog’s tail wagging. Every hour or so he would go to the bedside and reach his head up for a little petting. Then he would kiss his master’s hand, and they would tell each other in dog and man language, which was half sign and half speech, how much they loved each other.
Every morning when the surgeon made his rounds, he would speak to Pep and attend to his splints in the presence of his master. If Pep was feeling especially good, he would consent to follow the surgeon on his visit down the ward, stopping critically at the bedside of each patient, and watching proceedings narrowly. But he always returned quickly to his master’s bedside once the surgeon had made his rounds. Pep seemed to think that it was a part of his duty to look out for the poor soldiers now that his master could not.
It was a joyous day for Pep when his master could finally hobble about the hospital on two canes. They went from ward to ward talking and joking with the men. Everywhere they were greeted as heroes. The doctor always had to tell the story of Pep’s long, faithful vigil in the woods on that hideous night. This would make the soldiers look hard at Pep and stroke his head and tell him that he was a good old sport and that they were proud of him.
One day about three weeks after they had returned to the hospital, the doctor received a letter from home and he and Pep retired to a quiet room to read it together.
“Here, old pal, you climb up into my lap. Be careful and don’t hurt my leg. I’ve got a letter. It’s from the little woman.”
When he had opened the missive and spread it out, the doctor let Pep smell it and from the delighted wags of his tail and a glad bark that he gave, the physician was sure that he recognized the scent of his mistress’s hand on the paper.
“It nearly broke her heart,” explained the doctor, “to know that both her soldiers were wounded. It has taken a great load from her to receive the second cable, saying that I am out of danger. She doesn’t mind if we are lame and crippled, if she can only get us back, Pep.”