“I’ll mind,” said Dick, and he took a long look round, and then crept on hands and knees to the spring, looked at it longingly, but forebore to drink, and filling the tin he bore it to the Colonel, who lay just as he had left him.
“Can you lift my head, boy?” he said. “Set down the tin.”
Not an easy thing to do without spilling the water, but Dick succeeded, and then managed with the Colonel’s help to raise him a little so that he could reach the water, of which he drank with avidity and was once more lowered back, to lie faint and giddy for a few minutes, but he recovered soon and said he was better, speaking so freely and kindly to the boy that Dick took courage.
“I say,” he said: “you’ve got such a dirty face.”
“Have I, Dick?” said the Colonel, smiling. “Yes, it’s all over gunpowder, and all bloody. Shall I wash it?”
“Please, Dick, my boy,” said the Colonel, and Dick took the tin to the spring as carefully as before, after looking up and down the great ravine, filled it, and this time had a good draught himself, and felt hungry as he took the refilled tin back, set it down by the Colonel’s head, and then began to purse up his lips and think what he should do.
He was not long making up his mind, and tearing the lining out of his damaged sleeve to soak in the water and use for a sponge.
“But I haven’t a towel,” he said.
“There’s a clean handkerchief in the breast pocket of my coat,” said the Colonel, smiling. “Take it out.”