“This is every scrap we have,” she said, handing the soldier the parcel with a little bow. “If you will come back in an hour or two, perhaps we shall have more for you.”
“Thank you, ladies, and God bless you. I don’t know what our poor fellows in the hospitals would do if it weren’t for you.”
“Don’t forget your milk in the dining-room,” said Mrs. Varney.
“I’m not likely to, ma’am,” returned the soldier, as, in spite of his wounded arm, he bowed gracefully to the women.
In the hall Martha’s voice could be heard exclaiming:
“Come right dis way, you po’ chile, an’ see what Ah’s got fo’ you in de dinin’-room.”
“You must be tired to death,” said Mrs. Varney to Miss Kittridge, looking at the white face of the other woman. Her brother had been killed a few days before, but the clods had scarcely rattled down upon his coffin before she was energetically at work again—for other women’s brothers.
“No, no,” she said bravely; “and our tiredness is nothing compared to the weariness of our men. We are going to stay late to-night, Mrs. Varney, if you will let us. There’s so many more wounded come in it won’t do to stop now. We have found some old linen that will make splendid bandages, and——”
“My dear girl,” said the matron, “stay as long as you possibly can. I will see if Martha can’t serve you something to eat after a while. I don’t believe there is any tea left in the house.”
“Bread and butter will be a feast,” said Miss Kittridge.