“No, indeed!” replied Joe. “But,” he continued, “have they blown up the other Indians yet?”
“Not yet—but I heard them say they would do it very soon. They can be heard digging under the snow now, very plainly,” said Mary.
“Indeed!” said Joe, with no little terror depicted in his face. “I wish you’d go and ask Mr. Boone if he thinks you’ll be entirely safe, if you please, Miss Mary,” said Joe beseechingly.
“I will,” responded Mary, rising to depart.
“And if they ask how I am,” continued Joe, “please say I am a great deal better, but too weak yet to go out.”
Mary did his bidding; and when she returned, what was her astonishment to find her patient running briskly across the room from the cupboard, with a whole roasted prairie-hen in one hand, or at least the body of it, while he tore away the breast with his teeth, and some half dozen crackers in the other! In vain did he attempt to conceal them under the covering of his bed, into which he jumped as quickly as possible. Guilt was manifest in his averted look, his trembling hand, and his greasy mouth! Mary gazed in silent wonder. Joe cowered under her glance a few moments, until the irresistible flavour of the fowl overcame him, and then his jaws were again set in motion.
“I fear that eating will injure you,” remarked Mary, at length.
“Never fear,” replied Joe. “When a sick person has a good appetite, it’s a sure sign he’s getting better.”
“If you think so you can eat as much as you please,” said Mary; “and you needn’t hide any thing from me.”
Joe felt a degree of shame in being so palpably detected, but his appetite soon got the better of his scruples, and he gratified the demands of his stomach without reserve.