“Yes; I know what your ladyship means,” said the old soldier, for Lady Royland had paused, “and to be plain, the men have been talking a bit about that same, and what they were to do if they were hurt and no doctor here. I said—”
It was the sergeant’s turn to be silent now, and he stopped as if the words would not come.
“And what did you say?”
“Well, my lady, I took the liberty of saying that your ladyship was training up the women, and that when one of us was lucky enough to get wounded in the service of his king and country, he’d be carried into one of the big rooms o’ the east side, as would be turned into a hospital, and there tied up and put to bed, and souped and jellied and pastied, and made so much of, that he’d be sorry for the poor comrades who were only working the guns and doing the fighting.”
“You were quite right, Martlet,” said Lady Royland. “Tell the men that the wounded shall each be treated as if he were my own son.”
“Begging your ladyship’s pardon, that’s just what I did tell ’em, only I put a few flourishes to it, and I won’t say it again, because it may make ’em rash and wanting to get wounded for the sake of being carried into the snug quarters, and—”
“Sit down, Martlet, and eat,” said Lady Royland, pushing a chair towards the table.
“With your ladyship’s permission, I’d rather cut off a bit o’ something, and go and sit on one of the guns to eat it, and look out too. I should enjoy it better.”
“Do as you wish,” said Lady Royland. “There, take that fowl and loaf.”
“Thank you kindly, my lady, and—Morning, Master Roy, sir. Had a good sleep?”