He looked at her a moment, then opened the front of his flannel shirt and of the undershirt, and disclosed a flesh wound where the bullet had cut a streak across his chest. Marion bent close, and touched it with her fingers.
“Oh!” she sighed at last, in deep relief.
Haig’s reply was a laugh of which the irony did not escape her.
“Philip!” she cried reproachfully.
“Well, isn’t it rather droll––and ludicrous, when you come to think of it? First, Sunnysides’ punch in my stomach. And now, with my head cut open by a stone, and a broken leg, and two bullet-wounds––I’ve still got a splendid appetite. I ought to be on exhibition somewhere!”
His sardonic humor hurt her worse than his anger; and she went quickly to the brook to cleanse the towel again. Returning presently, she washed the new wound, and bandaged it; then examined the splints on the broken leg to assure herself that, as nearly as she could determine, no serious damage had been done to it by his reckless crawl; and finally brought his blankets, and insisted on making a sort of bed for him. After that she cooked two slices of bacon, and on this, with a little bread, they made their first meal of the day. And this brought her to the next and most pressing problem.
“Will you help me think, Philip?” she asked, when they had eaten.
“About what?”
“Food.”