Pen was silent.
“You saw me go down, didn’t you?”
Pen bowed his head.
“And you ran back to pick me up? Ah!” he ejaculated, drawing his breath hard.
“Wound hurt you much, my lad?”
“Ye–es,” said the lad, wincing; “just as if some one was boring a hole through my shoulder with a red-hot ramrod.”
“Punch, my lad, I don’t think it’s a bad wound, for while you were asleep I looked, and found that it had stopped bleeding.”
“Stopped? That’s a good job; ain’t it, comrade?”
“Yes; and with a healthy young fellow like you a wound soon begins to heal up if the wounded man lies quiet.”
“But I’m only a boy, private.”