“What is it? Does your wound hurt you?”
“No; I forgot all about it. I say, I should like to give that girl something, because it was real kind of her; but I ain’t got nothing but a sixpence with a hole in it, and she wouldn’t care for that, because it’s English.”
“Well, I don’t know, Punch. I dare say she would. A good-hearted girl like that wouldn’t look upon its value, but would keep it out of remembrance of our meeting.”
“Think so?” said Punch eagerly, and with his eyes sparkling. “Oh, don’t I wish I could talk Spanish!”
“Oh, never mind that,” said Pen. “Think about getting well. But, all the same, I wish I could make her understand so that she could guide me to where our fellows are.”
“Eh?” cried the boy eagerly. “You ain’t a-going to run away and leave me here, are you?”
“Is it likely, Punch?”
“Of course not,” cried the boy. “Never you mind what I say. I get muddly and stupid in my head sometimes, and then I say things I don’t mean.”
“Of course you do; I understand. It’s weakness,” said Pen cheerily; “but you are getting better.”
“Think so, comrade? You see, I ain’t had no doctor.”