“Don’t it put you in mind, sir, of the stone jar and the helephant-shed?”
“Yes, Pete. Ah, it’s rather warm, but very refreshing;” and he refilled the cup and held it to the man.
“No news, I suppose, sir?”
“Yes, Pete. More bad, of course; three more men down.”
“Three, sir! Well, I suppose we have all got to get a taste of them spears, just have our dose, and—good luck to him!—the Doctor will set us up again.”
Archie was silent for a few moments.
“One of the men is poor Joe Smithers,” he said at last.
“Joe Smithers!” cried Peter, letting his rifle fall into the hollow of his arm. “Joe Smithers!”
“I didn’t know you cared for him so much, Pete,” said Archie, as he saw the big tears gathering in the lad’s eyes.
“Oh, I liked him as a comrade, sir. He’s a good chap, and fought as well as the best of them. But it makes me feel ready to snivel, sir, about old Mother Clean-shirts. Why, it will about break her heart. Why, she was here a couple of hours ago to bring me that drinking-water, and looked as chirpy as ever.—Poor old girl!” continued Peter, as Archie told him what had passed. “It’s a bad, bad job, sir; but we soldiers has to chance it, for where there’s a lot of bad there’s always a lot of good. And look at that now! Who’s Joe Smithers as he should have such a stroke of luck and have a nurse like that?”