sleeve;
'here's the blood--save 'im, quick!'

"Well, Jeb," Tim sighed, "I never see sich a look as come into thot
doctor's face. He stared at her, thin shouted so's ye could a-heerd 'im
a mile: 'I won't do it!' But still she stands her ground, an' says in a
flash: 'Ye will, if ye do yer dooty!' 'But I need ye', he cries again;
'I can't spare ye!' But she gives it to 'im strong, lad, an' says: 'A
fightin' man is worth more'n a nurse jist now! Hurry, Doctor
Bonsecours!'--for thot's his name, Jeb. 'But I need ye anither way, me
darlin',' he pleads wid her--an' I hope to be shot for a spy if iver I
see a holier look in a mon's face! She weakened a bit, an' her cheeks
got r-rosy red, but she says up to him, brave as iver: 'Save this mon
first, for all av France needs him!' Mind ye, lad, her sayin' thot all
av France needed a beggar like me!--but 'twas because he hisself was
Frinch, no doubt!"

Tim wiped his sleeve across his eyes. He made no pretense at hiding the
tears that sprang to them, for they were tokens of a deep and lasting
gratitude, and he was not ashamed.

"An' so they did it, right there, lad, for a little runt av an Irishman;
an' the last thing I heerd her sayin', as she breathed in thot stuff--I
can't for the life av me remember its name--was: 'Plase be shure to take
enough, Doctor!'"

Tim did not mention how he had joined what little voice he possessed
with that of Bonsecours, pleading with her to make no such sacrifice;
and then, finding this useless, threatening to kill the great surgeon if
he so much as scratched her arm.

"Thot's the way people fight an' live out there, lad. Mind ye, the
blessed nurse hadn't known 'im more'n a week--maybe less; but it don't
take long for men or women to see the kind av stuff as is in each ither,
whin they're totterin' on the edge av No Man's Land! Annyway, I don't
know as she iver give 'im the answer he wanted; but w'ot's more to the
p'int av me story is this; thot she's nothin' but a blessed gir-rl, from
a little town back home, mind ye, but I'd have ye know thot the gr-reat
wur-rk Doctor Bonsecours has done is the talk av the Frinch ar-rmy--an'
she's his right-hand liftenant. She's as tender as tears, lad, but as
brave as a lion--an' in about the same job as yeself. She don't mind the
shells a-tall, a-tall! D'ye git that, Jeb?"

"What town did she come from?" Jeb asked, his eyes growing thoughtful.

"Sure, an' I can't think av it!"

"Was it----" He stopped abr