Mass' George: A Boy's Adventures in the Old Savannah

by George Manville Fenn

Chapter Thirty Two.

“Better, my lad?”

I did not answer, but looked in my father’s face, wondering what was the matter—why I felt so deathly sick, as I lay back feeling water splashed in my face, and seeing a black hand going and coming from somewhere at my side.

“Come: try and hold up,” said my father.

“Yes,” I said. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing very serious for you, my lad. We have been playing at soldiers in earnest, that’s all, and you have been wounded.”

“I, father—I? Ah yes, I remember,” I said, essaying to sit up. “But I did try hard to bear it.”

“I know—I know, my lad. I didn’t know you were hurt like that.”

“But—but the Indians?” I said, struggling up, and then catching at my father’s hand, for I felt a burning pain run through my leg, and the sick sensation returned.