stay too long," she
replied briskly, "and don't question him too much. He's in a bad way,
his wounds are very septic."

He nodded to me as I approached. At the head of the bed hung a
case-sheet and temperature-chart, and I saw at a glance the
superscription--

Hunt, George, Private, No. 1578936 B Co. ---- Wiltshires.

I noticed that the temperature-line ran sharply upwards on the chart.

"So you're a Wiltshireman?" I said. "So am I." And I held out my hand.
He drew his own from beneath the bedclothes and held mine in an iron
grip.

"What might be your parts, sir?"

"W---- B----."

His eyes lighted up with pleasure. "Why, zur, it be nex' parish; I come
from B----. I be main pleased to zee ye, zur."

"The pleasure is mine," I said. "When did you join?"

"I jined in July last year, zur. I be a resarvist."

"You have been out a long time, then?"

"Yes, though it do seem but yesterday, and I han't seen B---- since. I
mind how parson, 'e came to me and axed, 'What! bist gwine to fight for
King and Country, Jarge?' And I zed, 'Yes, sur, that I be--for King and
Country and ould Wiltshire. I guess we Wiltshiremen be worth two Gloster
men any day though they do call us 'Moon-rakers.' Not but what the
Glosters ain't very good fellers," he added indulgently. "Parson, he be
mortal good to I; 'e gied I his blessing and 'e write and give I all the
news of the parish. He warnt much of a preacher though a did say 'Dearly
beloved' in church in a very taking way as though he were a-courting."

"What was I a-doin', zur? Oh, I wur with Varmer Twine, head labr'er I
was. Strong? Oh yes, zur, pretty fair. I mind I could throw a zack o'
vlour ower my shoulder when I wur a boy o' vourteen. Why! I wur stronger
then than I be now. 'Twas India that done me."

"Is it a large farm?" I asked, seeking to beguile him with homely
thoughts.

"Six 'undred yackers. Oh yes, I'd plenty to do, and I could turn me
hands to most things, though I do say it. There weren't a man in the
parish as could beat I at mowing or putting a hackle on a rick, though I
do say it. And I could drive a straight furrow too. Heavy work it were.
The soil be stiff clay, as ye knows, zur. This Vlemish clay be very
loike it. Lord, what a mint o' diggin' we 'ave done in they trenches to
be sure. And bullets vlying like wopses zumtimes."

"Are your parents alive?" I asked.

"No, zur, they be both gone to Kingdom come. Poor old feyther," he said
after a paus