The doctor says you must not talk at all until he comes."
"So," thought the boy. "I've got a doctor. Wonder where I am an' what
ails me, anyhow."
But that strange weakness made it easy to obey orders and lie still
while the nurse bathed his face and hands and freshened up the bed and
the room. Then she brought him a bowl of chicken broth with which she
fed him. It tasted delicious, and he swallowed it hungrily and wished
there had been more. Then as he lay back on the pillows he remembered
all that had happened--the horses running down the street, his attempt
to stop them, and the awful blow on his head as it struck the
curbstone.
"Wonder where I am? Tain't a hospital, anyhow," he thought. "My! But I
feel nice an' clean an' so--so light, somehow! If only my head wasn't
so sore!"
No wonder he felt "nice and clean and light somehow," when, for the
first time in his life his body and garments as well as his bed, were
as sweet and fresh as hands could make them. Tode never had minded
dirt. Why should he, when he had been born in it and had grown up
knowing nothing better? Yet, none the less, was this new experience
most delightful to him--so delightful that he didn't care to talk. It
was happiness enough for him, just then, to lie still and enjoy these
new conditions, and so presently he floated off again into sleep--a
sleep full of beautiful dreams from which the low murmur of voices
aroused him, and he opened his eyes to see the nurse and the doctor
looking down at him.
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