“Can’t help it,” said the Doctor. “I can’t play Blind-Man’s Buff and stitch up wounds without a lamp. I want more help.”
“Shall I ask Mrs Morley to come, sir?”
“My wife? No. She is busy with the women and children, and running off now and then to give the poor fellows a drink of water. Here, I know: set some one to find that ragamuffin Pegg. He’d be worth anything to me now, for he’s handy over this sort of thing.”
“Yes, Doctor; but he’s one of our best shots with a rifle, and the Captain has posted him where he covers the river path.”
“Oh, well, then, you can’t spare him, of course. But look here, Archie; the wounded are being brought in too fast. Tell the Major that I say that he must blaze away a little to hold the enemy back.”
“Do you want him to cut me down, sir? He’s in a furious temper.”
“Enough to make him. So am I. I nearly stuck a lancet into Sir Charles Dallas a few minutes ago for coming and worrying me about the possibility of a party of men stealing off to one of the boats with him. The madman! All men are mad when they’re in love. Never you catch that complaint.”
“No, sir,” said Archie.
“Well, I’m keeping you, my lad; but I’m glad of a minute’s cessation from this work. There! I think he will do now, duchess.—What do you say?”
“Poor fellow! You have done it all beautiful, sir,” said Mrs Smithers, smiling, as she passed a cool, wet sponge across the wounded man’s brows.