“Yes. Don’t you remember?”
“No. How was it?”
“There, don’t you bother your brains about that.”
“But I want to know.”
“And I want you to do all you can to get well.”
“Course you do. ’Tisn’t fever, is it?”
“Fever! No! Yes, you were feverish. Every one is after a wound. Now then,” And he took out and opened his knife.
“Wound! Wound!” said the boy, watching him. “Whatcher going to do with your knife? Take your bay’net if you want to finish a fellow off.”
“Well, I don’t,” said Pen, laughing.
“’Tain’t anything to laugh at, comrade.”