“And, goodness! how people will stare when they see us on the steamer together off to Rosherville.”
“I’ll come with you,” interposed Bobbie from the next bed.
“Not likely,” declared Nurse Crowther, with another wink. “Two’s company, three’s a crowd. Aye, Nineteen?”
“Most decidedly,” intimated the delighted boy.
“And now it’s time for your little pick-me-up. Say good-bye to your mother.”
Nineteen’s mother, having said good-bye, drew the nurse aside, whispering a question, and Bobbie heard the answer, “No hope!” This startled Bobbie, and made him think; presently he worked so hard in the endeavour to cheer little Nineteen that Sister Margaret had to command silence, because Nineteen required rest. That night, when the ward was silent, Bobbie watched him as he lay with eyes closed, his breathing short and irregular, and for almost the first time in his life, Bobbie thought seriously of the desirability—taking everything into consideration—of becoming religious.
He could see the red fire, and watching it he considered this entirely new suggestion. He lifted the bed-clothes to shield himself from the sight of the distant fireplace, for he was becoming heated. It required much determination to put gloomy thoughts from him; when he had partly succeeded in doing this he looked again at the fire, and then he knew that there were tears in his eyes, because the light of the fire became starry and confused in appearance. He sniffed and rubbed his eyes. It seemed that he could see another fire, a small one, near to the grate, and this he assumed to be an optical delusion until it crept along a black rug and commenced to blaze, whereupon he slipped cautiously out of bed; his bandaged arm paining, despite his care, and called for the nurse. An answer did not come immediately, and the boy hurried bare-footed, in his scarlet gown only, across the floor to the burning rug. Afterwards, he remembered rolling it up awkwardly with one hand and stamping upon it; the night nurse hurrying up with a scream, forty heads up in forty cots—it was then for the first and last time in his life that Bobbie fainted.
“We shall have to send you to a home, Twenty.” Sister Margaret looked on a day or two later, whilst Nurse Crowther re-bound the lint and wool. “A convalescent home down by the sea-side, upon a hill, where you can watch the shipping, and—”
“That’ll suit me down to the ground, Sister.”
“I believe he got burnt purposely, Sister,” declared Nurse Crowther, “so that he should have a nice long holiday. Wish to goodness I was half as artful as Twenty is.”