“Let him sleep, then, till he wakes, and he’ll be right enough again.”
“I hope so; but he was very low and despondent last night. He feels the responsibility of his position so much.”
“Course he does, my lady. That’s his breed. His father always did. Used to make as much fuss over one of us as went down or got a wound as if we’d been his own children. But you let him sleep, my lady; he’ll be like a new man when he gets up. He’s a wonder, my lady; that he is.”
“He was afraid that the men were disposed to smile at him because he is so young.”
“I should just like to ketch one on ’em a-doing it,” growled Ben. “But it aren’t true, my lady,” he continued, excitedly. “They smiles when he comes up, o’ course, but it’s because he seems to do ’em good, and they can’t help it, they’re so pleased to see him. Why, if you’ll believe me, my lady, from Sir Granby’s corporal o’ dragoons down to Isaiah Wiggens, as got nigh upon drowned being pulled across the moat last night, my lady—”
“Oh, how horrible!”
“Horrid? Not it, my lady—begging your pardon. Sarve him right! Great big hulking lubberly chap like that, and not able to swim!”
“But is he ill this morning?”
“Not he, my lady. He was so roasted in the guard-room after, that he got up at daylight and went into the moat again ’s morning to begin to larn.”
“But tell me, what news?”