"Oh, yes,"--he roused himself--"I'll look 'round later; I suppose he is delirious?"
"Not so much that he does not recognize us. He talks all the time of his town, poor fellow, and seems to want to have them understand that he hasn't neglected his duty. He only once has spoken of any relations. It's all the town, and the captain and Danvers making it right there; and the boys going back--I suppose he has lived there all his life and--"
"Not a bit of it; Danvers told me he merely enlisted from there. But they are making a great time over him. Telegraphed to have his body sent there; and here's another telegram. See--"
"I'll let him see," said the nurse, taking it, "may I, Doctor?"
"Yes, but not the first part about sending him back; that's a little too previous."
The nurse's touch roused Spruce. "Dick," he murmured, "Dick, you tell the folks. I couldn't go with the regiment--you know why."
"They know why, too; here's a telegram from your captain's father: 'Tell Spruce he's the hero of Company G.'"
She read it. His hand tightened on hers. Her trained eyes were on his face.
"Ain't it the--the _bulliest_ town! I wisht I'd enough money to go back; but you see my folks got to have my pay. But I wisht--"
Her eyes, not the nurse's now, but a woman's, sought the doctor's in a glance of question and appeal. He nodded.
Her sweet voice said: "And the town has telegraphed that no expense must be spared to cure you; but if you don't recover you are to go back to them."
Spruce drew a long, ecstatic sigh. "Oh--didn't I tell you? Ain't it the bulliest town!"
A minute later he murmured, "Thank you, Dick," and, still holding the nurse's hand, Spruce went to see his town.
The widow Darter's house was set on a hill. It was a story-and-a-half cottage, of stucco, to which sun and wind and frost had offered their kind offices, mellowing pleasantly its original glare of white. In summer a trumpet-vine draped the ugly little piazza which Emmy's "art-needle work" had helped build, and which she and her mother admired with simple hearts. The big burr oak and the maples hid the house from the road, but the grassy knoll in front of the house was bare, and from this vantage-ground one could see the shallow curve of whitish-brown where the village street climbed the hill, the chimneys of the houses below, and, afar off, the trains roaring through the prairies. All the village was interested in the railway, but Emmy had an especial and intimate interest because her sweetheart was the local agent. He had been her sweetheart during five years, in any one of which he would have been proud and glad to marry her; yet this was the fifth year of their betrothal, and Emmy was drearily reflecting that they were no nearer the chance to spend their lives together the fifth than the first.