grey and dismal--a pitiful
contrast to its appearance a few hours before, but the sun rose before
long as bright and glorious as ever, to come in at the infirmary window
upon Dick Smithson's scorched brow, while, in company with the hospital
attendant, the fat sergeant sat watching with a careworn expression upon
his broad, good-humoured face.

"What did he say?" whispered the attendant, after Dick had hurriedly
babbled a few words.

"Marks," said the sergeant; "Marks--he's thinking about the scars that
there'll be upon his face."

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

DOWN IN THE DUMPS.

It was in the hospital by the invalid's side.

"Don't you look like that!" said Jerry. "I know how it is! You're
getting better, and are able to think more. When you were ten times as
bad, you never used to look so down and say you would never get right
again!"

Jerry looked at Brumpton as he delivered himself of this oracular
speech, and the fat sergeant declared that he was right; but Dick did
not believe either of them.

"I've got some news for you, too."

"Look here," said Brumpton. "I must be off. Stop with him as long as
you can, Jerry Brigley.--I say, why don't you have your flute, and
practise a bit?"

Dick looked up from the easy-chair in which he lay back, and his eyes
brightened; but they turned dull again, and he shook his head.

As soon as the sergeant had gone, Dick spoke.

"What is your news?" he said, feebly.

"Shan't tell you, if you don't pluck up a bit! You ought to be well by
now. Why, it is a whole blessed month since that unlucky night, and
here have you been bad ever since with burning and fever; and it's been
a wonder to me as nobody understood what you were talking about. You
let the cat out of the bag lots of times, but I was the only one as
understood the connundydrum."

"Tell me your news," said Dick, wearily.

Jerry picked up a bouquet standing in water, sniffed it, and set it down
again, watching the patient furtively as he went on ignoring the
question.

"Here was Mr Lacey knocked up for a few days after his singeing, and
gets right again, though his head of 'air is still orful to be'old; and
it's on'y by cutting the other side so short as to make something like a
match to the singed-off side where he was burnt that I made him able to
go out when he got better. Soldiers do wear their hair pretty close,
but his head looked quite indecent; and, as for his starshers, they're
like a bit o'