She had only a small voice, but it was sweet and clear.
“All this world am sad and dreary,
Everywhere I roam,
Oh, darkies, how my heart grows weary,
Far from the old folks at home.”
Not one, but half a dozen soldiers lay quiet listening to Nona’s song. She was only aware that the boy for whom she was singing was breathing more evenly as she sang on and that there was a happier curve to his lips. In a few moments more, if nothing occurred to disturb him, he must be asleep.
So Nona did not know that Colonel Dalton, although holding his beloved London newspaper before his face, had been watching her and that her old-fashioned song had touched him.
She was slipping away with her patient finally asleep when he motioned to her.
“It is a wonderful thing you are doing, Miss Davis,” he began in a low tone, so as not to disturb the sleeper, “you a young American girl to come over here to help care for our British boys. I want to shake hands with you if I may, you and that clever little friend of yours, who helped me out of my difficulty. I shall be away from the hospital in a few days and back at my post, as I’ve almost entirely recovered from the effects of the chlorine gas. But later on if I can ever be of service to you in any way, you are to count upon me. I trust that at some future day the English nation can show its appreciation for what the United States has done for us in this tragic war.”
Colonel Dalton spoke with so much feeling and dignity that Nona was both pleased and embarrassed. Of course, she seemed like a young girl to him, and yet after all Colonel Dalton could be only a little over thirty. It must be something in his character or in his history that gave his face the expression of sadness and sternness. Although his duties as an officer in the war might already have created the look.