“Captain? what captain?” thought Fred, dreamily, and who was he that he should not be disturbed?
But he felt no inclination to speak, but lay listening to the chirping of the sparrows, and moved his head slightly to find that it was resting upon a piece of sacking laid over the straw.
That movement brought on the dizzy sensation again, and his head throbbed painfully for a time.
But the pain grew easier, and he lay perfectly still, watching the beautiful beam of sunshine which came through the open window, above which the roof went into a point, showing him that this was the gable end of the loft where he lay.
This did not surprise him, for he had been accustomed for months past to sleep in shed, stable, or loft, as well as in houses with decent rooms. At one time for a month a church had been the barracks where he had lain. Rough quarters had become a matter of course, and he lay quite still, for how long he did not know, to be roused once more by a deep groan.
“Do you hear, lad? What’s the good of going on like that?” said the familiar voice again.
“My head—my head!” moaned some one.
“Well, and my head, and my ribs, if you come to that; but I don’t howl and groan.”
“Samson!”
“Master Fred! Captain, I mean. Hey, but it does a man good to hear you speak, again. Don’t die this time, dear lad.”