“Why? How?”
“’Cause you’d think after he’d seen his people killed and the house burnt about his ears he’d ha’ been frightened like; but he don’t seem to mind nothing about it, not a bit.”
“Ah, it is strange,” said Mrs Corporal; “but there couldn’t be a braver nor a better little chap.”
“That there couldn’t,” said the Corporal proudly; “but I think I’ve found out what’s the matter with him. That crack on the head made him an idjit.”
“For shame, Joe!” cried his wife. “He’s as clever and bright a little fellow as ever stepped.”
“So he is, missus; but he puzzles me. It’s ama-a-azin’.”
The boy puzzled Tom Jones the bugler boy too, who whenever he got a chance came alongside of the mule or baggage wagon in the rear, and let the little invalid earn his bugle on condition that he did not try to blow it, and Tom made this an excuse for solemnly asking the same questions over and over again.
“I say, who’s your father?”
“Corporal Joe Beane,” said the boy promptly; “I say, Tom, mayn’t I have a blow now?”
“What? No, of course not. You don’t want to send the men at the double up a hill like this.”