"
Presently he moved, and lay quietly watching the others they were
bringing in.
"Why!" he called, "that's Bertie Curtis, ain't it?" as a slight,
beautiful-faced boy was carried past him, and raised to his place.
"Yes, it is," answered one of the men, shortly, to cover some strong
feeling.
Jim leaned out of his berth, regardless of his protesting leg, canteen
in hand. "Here, Bertie!" he called, "my canteen's full of fresh water,
just filled. I know it'll taste good to you."
The boy's fine face flushed. "O, thank you, Given, it would taste
deliriously, but I can't take it,"--glancing down. Jim followed the
look, to see that both arms were gone, close to the graceful, boyish
form; seeing which his face twitched painfully,--not with his own
suffering,--and for a moment words failed him. Just then came up one of
the sanitary nurses with some cooling drink, and fresh, wet bandages for
the fevered stumps.
Great drops were standing on Bertie's forehead, and ominous gray shadows
had already settled about the mouth, and under the long, shut lashes.
Looking at the face, so young, so refined, some mother's pride and
darling, the nurse brushed back tenderly the fair hair, murmuring, "Poor
fellow!"
The eyes unclosed quickly: "There are no poor fellows here, sir!" he
said.
"Well, brave fellow, then!"
"I did but do my duty,"--a smile breaking through the gathering mists.
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