would bear it, how he would "come to" saying, "Let me get up! I
can walk...."

I felt a sneaking wish that he should be undone and show unusual
weakness.

When the moment came he did as he had said he would do--he laughed and
waved good-bye as he was wheeled away; and in the afternoon when I came
on duty I found him lying in his bed, conscious, looking brown and
strong and unconcerned.

But he can't let well alone....

As I passed up the ward to the bedside of the Welsh private I was
called by the sergeant, and when I stood by his bed he whispered, "Is
that chap making a fuss over there?"

"Evan?"

"Chap as has had an operation the same as me...."

"He's very bad."

"You don't find me making a fuss and my leg isn't half giving me
something."

"We're not all alike, sergeant."

"Why should one make a fuss and another say nothing?"

"Is your leg hurting you a lot?"

"Yes, it is," and he screwed up his face into a grimace.

After all, he was a child. "Try to go to sleep," I said, knowing that it
was his jealousy that was hurting him most.

I went to Evan.

He could do nothing with his pain, but in its tightest embraces, and
crying, he lay with his large red handkerchief over his eyes.

"Oh, Evan...!" I said. I couldn't do anything either.

"Oh dear, dear, dear, dear, dear...." he wailed in his plaintive Welsh
voice. "Oh, my dear leg, my poor leg...." He looked about nineteen.
"Couldn't I lie on my side?"

"No, it would make it bleed."

"Would it?" He was so docile and so unhappy. The tears had run down and
marked his pillow; I turned it, although the sergeant couldn't see.

"Will they give me something to make me sleep to-night?"

"Yes, Evan, at eight o'clock."

I said that because I was so sure of it, I had always seen it done. But
oh, I should have made more sure...!

He built on it, he leant all his hopes upon it; his little clenched
hands seemed to be holding my promise as firmly as though it had been my
hand.

And Sister said, "No, no ... it would be better not." "Oh, Sister, why
not...?" (I, the least of mortals, had made a promise belonging only to
the gods....)

"Oh, Sister, why not?"

Her reason was a good one: "He will want it more later in the night, and
he can't have it twice."

I ran back to tell him so quickly--but one can't run back into the past.

It is wonderful to talk to men affectionately without exciting or
implying love. The Utopian dreams of sixteen seem almos