“’Tis the Sabbath,” said Campbell reverently, as he came to the side of the bunk. “And how do ye feel the day, lad?”
“Fine!” said Toppy. “Considering that I had my ankle sprained last evening.”
The Scot eyed him closely.
“So ’twas last evening ye broke your ankle, was it?” he asked cannily.
“Why, sure,” said Toppy. “Yesterday was Saturday, wasn’t it? We were cleaning up the week’s work. Why, what are you looking at me like that for?”
“Aye,” said Campbell, his Sunday solemnity forbidding the smile that strove to break through. “Yesterday was Saturday, but ’twas not the Saturday you sprained your leg. A week ago Saturday that was, lad, and ye’ve lain here in a fever, out of your head, ever since. Do you mind naught of the whole week?”
Toppy looked up at Campbell in silence for a long time.
“Scotty, if you have to play jokes——”
“Jokes!” spluttered Campbell, aghast. “Losh, mon! Didna I tell ye ’twas the Sabbath? No, ’tis no joke, I assure you. You did more than sprain your ankle when ye tripped that Saturday. You collapsed completely. Lad, you were in poor condition when you came to camp, and had I known it I would not have broken you in so hard. But you’re a good man, lad; the best man I ever saw, if you keep in condition. And do you really feel good again?”
“Why, I feel like a new man,” said Toppy. “I feel as if I’d had a course of baths at Hot Springs.”