"You ought to be thankful that the bullet, instead of putting you on the ground, didn't put you under it," replied Prescott.
"Now, don't you try the pious and thankful dodge on me!" cried Harley. "Helen does it now and then, but I stop her, even if I have to be impolite to a lady. I wouldn't mind your feelings at all."
His sister sat down on a camp stool. It was easy to see that she understood her brother's temper and knew how to receive his outbursts.
"There you are again, Helen," he cried, seeing her look. "A smile like that indicates a belief in your own superiority. I wish you wouldn't do it. You hurt my vanity, and you are too good a sister for that."
Prescott laughed.
"I think you are getting well fast, Harley," he said. "You show too much energy for an invalid."
"I wish the surgeon thought the same," replied Harley, "but that doctor is feeble-minded; I know he is! Isn't he, Helen?"
"Perhaps he's keeping you here because he doesn't want us to beat the Yankees too soon," she replied.
"Isn't it true, Prescott, that a man is always appreciated least by his own family?" he asked.
He spoke as if in jest, but there was a trace of vanity, and Prescott hesitated for a reply, not wishing to appear in a false light to either brother or sister.