“Better that I had died—better that I had died than suffer this. The defeat—the shame.”
Then all was still in the darkness, the fear began to creep into Dick’s breast again, and he gently stretched out his hand to touch the Colonel’s, when to his great joy his hand was seized: then another hand touched it, and he felt it kissed and then held fast, drawing him forward so that he half lay across the wounded man’s breast, and could feel the beating of his heart, lying thinking there till he heard a low sigh or two, followed by a steady regular breathing as if he slept.
And at last, utterly wearied out, sleep came to the boy as well, and he lay dreaming there, keeping what might have been the chill of death from a brave man’s breast, till the sun rose again and was beating down warmly upon the back of Dick’s head, when he opened his eyes to stare wonderingly at the stained and blackened face so close to his.
Dick did not dare to stir for fear of awakening the Colonel again: but he was not asleep, for after a time he opened his eyes and smiled pleasantly.
“The fortune of war, little comrade,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” said Dick, and he stared at him, wondering that the stern, fierce officer who ordered the men about so could look so pleasant.
“That’s right,” said the Colonel: “we have been successful many times. But let’s see, Dick, you were brought into camp wounded.”
“Yes,” said Dick. “My head was very bad.”
“Of course. I remember all about it. How was it you were injured?”
Dick shook the head that had been hurt.