When he awoke in the morning the sun was shining in the trench, the
bottom of which was covered with eight inches of snow, now slushy on top
from the red beams. John felt himself restored and strong, and he
stepped down into the snow and slush, having first tucked his blue-gray
trousers into his high boots. He was lucky in the possession of a fine
pair of boots that would turn the last drop of water, and in such times
as these they were worth more than gold.
A shell screaming high overhead was his morning salutation, and then
came other shells, desultory but noisy. John paid no more attention to
them than if they had been distant bees buzzing. He looked at his young
prisoner, Kratzek, and found that he was still sleeping, with a healthy
color in his face. John was impressed anew by his youth. "Why do they
let such babies come to the war?" he asked himself, but he added,
"They're brave babies, though."
"Well, he's pulling along all right," said Carstairs. "I was up before
you and I learned that Captain Colton sent a surgeon in the night to
examine him. Wharton had done a good job with his bandages, he admitted,
but he cleaned and dressed the wound and said the patient was in such a
healthy condition that he would be entirely well again in a short time.
He's only a young boy, isn't he, Scott?"
"Yes, I suppose that's why I have such a fatherly feeling for him.
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