The two mothers clung together for a moment at the last.
"I would give up my own son if I could give yours back to you," Mrs. Warner murmured. Tears were running down her kind face.
"I will have him back," Mrs. Lester said steadily. "Some day you must come to see him—straight and well again." But Mrs. Warner had no words.
The day passed more easily than they had dared to hope. If the tracks were sandy, at least they were in good order; the ambulance passed over them gently, and the fresh air acted as a sedative to Dick, who slept calmly during the warmest hours of the morning. They pitched a camp early in the afternoon, afraid to make the first stage a long one. It was an ideal spot—a grassy clearing, ringed round with tall trees and low bushes, full of birds that had never learned to be afraid of humans. Dick begged to be taken out, and they lifted his stretcher into the shade, where he could lie watching the business of camping. Mr. Warner and Mr. Lester were old hands at the business; the tents went up, firewood was brought in, and the camp-fire lit, and their evening meal prepared, long before it was time to put Dick back to bed and make him comfortable for the night. He put off the moving as long as he could. "I've been in bed so jolly long—I'm sick of four walls," he pleaded. So they let him wait until their meal was over and dusk came down; and the nurses, fearing the chill of the evening air, became adamant, and carried him off.
"They pitched a camp early in the afternoon."
Mrs. Lester woke when the first rays of the sun came into her tent. She slipped on a coat and hurried across to the ambulance, peeping in. Already the nurse was busying herself about nourishment, and Dick's eyes, clear and merry, peeped at her over the edge of his blankets.
"Isn't it jolly, mother! Did you sleep well?"
"Ever so well," she told him. "And you?"