He knew the pale figure in the
dressing gown. "Put on your pedestrian suit," she said with eagerness,
"and bring your knapsack with you as quickly as possible." He put it on,
although the arms of coat and shirt were ripped up for former surgical
reasons, and he objected to the blood marks on the sleeves. Then he took
up his knapsack, and went hastily to the sick room. His friend was lying
on his side, and looking very deathly, but he was speaking, and a wan
smile flitted over his lips. "Two knapsacks," he murmured, and, "Dear
old Wilks," and, "rum start." Miss Carmichael said: "Put yours here on
the table above his, where he can see them," and he obeyed. "Now, stand
beside them, and say 'Corry,' gently." The dominie could hardly do it
for a queer choking in his throat, but at last he succeeded in
pronouncing the abbreviation in an interrogative tone. "Wilks," wheezed
the sick man, "O Wilks, she called them pads!" and his eyes rested on
the knapsacks. "Stay with him," the nurse whispered, "while I call
Fanny." Soon Miss Halbert came, and, walking boldly but quietly up to
the bedside, asked: "Who are you calling she, you naughty boy that want
to leave us all?" With an effort, he answered: "I beg your pardon, Miss
Halbert, but you know you did call them pads.
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