w; but it fell back again. And what's the matter with my
voice?"

"Nothing."

"Yes, there is," cried the boy peevishly. "It's all gone squeaky again,
like it was before it changed and turned gruff. I say, Gray, am I going
to be very bad, and never get well again?"

"Not you! What nonsense!"

"But I am so weak."

"Well, you have seen plenty of our poor fellows in hospital, haven't
you?"

"Yes, some of them," said the boy feebly.

"Well, weren't they weak?"

"Yes, I forgot all that; but I wasn't so bad as this yesterday. It was
yesterday, wasn't it?"

"Yes. Don't you remember?"

"No. How was it?"

"There, don't you bother your brains about that."

"But I want to know."

"And I want you to do all you can to get well."

"Course you do. 'Tisn't fever, is it?"

"Fever! No! Yes, you were feverish. Every one is after a wound. Now
then," And he took out and opened his knife.

"Wound! Wound!" said the boy, watching him. "Whatcher going to do
with your knife? Take your bay'net if you want to finish a fellow off."

"Well, I don't," said Pen, laughing.

"'Tain't anything to laugh at, comrade."

"Yes, it is, when you talk nonsense. Now then, breakfast."

"Don't gammon," said the poor fellow feebly. "My head isn't all swimmy
now. Beginning to remember. Didn't you carry me down here?"

"To be sure, and precious heavy you were!"

"Good chap!" said the boy, sighing. "You always was a trump; but don't
play with a poor fellow. There can't be no breakfast."

"Oh, can't there? I'll show you; and I want to begin. I say, Punch,
I'm nearly starved."

"I'm not," said the poor fellow sadly. "I couldn't eat."

"Oh, well, you have got to, so look sharp, or I shall go mad."

"Whatcher mean?"

"I told you I'm starving. I have hardly touched anything for two days
except water."

"Well, go on then. What is there for breakfast?"

"Bread."

"Ugh! Don't! Black dry bread! It makes me feel sick."

"Bread and milk."

"Where did you get the milk?"

"Never you mind," said Pen, plunging his knife into the dark sop which
half-filled the little pail. "Now then, you have got to eat first."

"No, don't ask me; I can't touch it," and the boy closed his eyes
against the piece of saturated bread that his companion held out to him
on the knife.

"You must," said Pen; "so look sharp."

"I can't, I tell you."

"Well, then, I shall have to starve."

"No, no; go on."

"After you."

It to