He liked that; his face shone, he squared his shoulders, lifted his head, and looked me full in the eye with a brisk—
"Thank ye, Ma'am; anything more to do fer yer?"
"Doctor Franck thought you would help me with this man, as there are many patients and few nurses or attendants. Have you had the fever?"
"No, Ma'am."
"They should have thought of that when they put him here; wounds and fevers should not be together. I'll try to get you moved."
He laughed a sudden laugh,—if he had been a white man, I should have called it scornful; as he was a few shades darker than myself, I suppose it must be considered an insolent, or at least an unmannerly one.
"It don't matter, Ma'am. I'd rather be up here with the fever than down with those niggers; and there ain't no other place fer me."
Poor fellow! that was true. No ward in all the hospital would take him in to lie side by side with the most miserable white wreck there. Like the bat in Aesop's fable, he belonged to neither race; and the pride of one, the helplessness of the other, kept him hovering alone in the twilight a great sin has brought to overshadow the whole land.
"You shall stay, then; for I would far rather have you than any lazy Jack. But are you well and strong enough?"
"I guess I'll do, Ma'am."