At this point Barry came rushing along.
“Why, Ewen! My poor fellow!” he cried, throwing his arm about the wounded man's shoulder. “What is it?”
“My arm, sir,” said the boy, adding some words in a low tone. “But I'm all right,” he said brightly. “You'll write my mother, sir, and tell her? You'll know what to say.”
“Surely I will. You'll be all right, old boy, God bless you! Good luck, Ewen!”
Then leaning over the boy, he added in a low voice, “Remember you are not all alone. God is with you. You won't forget that!”
“I won't, sir. I know it well,” said Ewen earnestly.
Most of the stretcher cases had been hurried away. Only a few of the more seriously wounded remained. As Barry turned away from the car, he saw the medical officer and sergeant major approaching him.
“A terrible business,” said Barry, in a horror-stricken voice. “Splendid chaps. How plucky they are!”
The M. O. made no reply, but coming close to Barry, he put his arm through his, the sergeant major taking him by the other arm.
“I say, Barry, old chap,” said the M. O. in a grave voice, calling him for the first time by his first name. “There is some one here that you know well.”