"Pretty well. To-morrow it will be eight weeks," he replies cheerily.
"Eight weeks," I repeated, mechanically; "that is a long time;" and thinking of this, I pass my hand over my head. My head was naturally covered with very thick, curly, soft auburn hair, inclining to red; but I now feel nothing but short bristles, as of a brush, a brush too in which time has made considerable ravages.
"This is very strange," I said.
"Soon grow," said the sergeant, encouragingly. "Shaved me bald as a turnip after this"--he pointed to a deep scar on his right temple, running up into his thick gray hair, and which I now noticed for the first time--"and yet I had a crop afterwards like a bear----"
"With seven senses," I added, and had to laugh at my own wit. It seems that I have a child's head on my broad shoulders.
The old man laughed heartily, then suddenly grew serious and said:
"Now keep still, and go to sleep again like a----"
He did not finish his favorite simile, apparently in fear lest he should set me to laughing again; but I laughed in spite of his precautions, and while doing so pulled up the sleeve of my shirt, which struck me as singularly loose. But it was not that the sleeve was wider, but my arm thinner; so thin that I could scarcely believe it to be mine.
"Soon get strong again," said the sergeant.
"I have been very sick, then?"