The General and orderlies galloped from spot to spot
without apparent object; and all was very martial. At last the
doctor grew tired of trotting up and down without being wanted.
He thought with longing of some pools, half a mile away, in a hollow
of the Downs, that contained certain freshwater shells about which he
held a theory. The afternoon was hot. He glanced round--no one
seemed to want him: so he turned Kitty into a grassy defile that led
to the pools, and walked her leisurely away.
Half an hour later he stood, ankle-deep in water, groping for his
shells and oblivious of the review, the firing that echoed far away,
the flight of time--everything. Kitty, with one fore-leg through the
bridle, was cropping on the brink. Minutes passed, and the doctor
raised his head, for the blood was running into it. At that moment
his eye was caught by a scarlet object under a gorse-bush on the
opposite bank. He gave a second look, then waded across towards it.
It was a baby: a baby not a week old, wrapped only in a red
handkerchief.
The doctor bent over it. The infant opened its eyes and began to
wail. At this instant an orderly appeared on the ridge above,
scanning the country. He caught sight of the doctor and descended to
the opposite shore of the pool, where he saluted and yelled his
message. It appeared that some awkward militiaman had blown his
thumb off in the blank cartridge practice and surgical help was
wanted at once.
Pages:
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137