CHAPTER VII.

FACING THE WORLD.


Army surgeons recognize three types of wounded. One type so nervous,
that it drops the moment it is struck, whether the wound is disabling or
not. Another so nerveless, that it fights on, unconscious that it has
been hit. A third, who, feeling the wound, goes on fighting, sustained
by its nerve. It is over the latter sort that the surgeons shake their
heads and look anxious.

Peter did his packing quietly and quickly, not pausing for a moment in
the task. Then he went downstairs, and joined the party, just finishing
the supper. He refused, it is true, to eat anything, and was quiet, but
this phase was so normal in him, that it occasioned no remark. Asked
where Miss Pierce was, he explained briefly that he had left her in the
hall, in order to do his packing and had not seen her since.

In a few moments the party broke up. Peter said a good-bye to each,
quite conscious of what he was doing, yet really saying more and better
things than he had said in his whole visit, and quite surprising them
all in the apparent ease with which he went through the duty.

"You must come and see us when you have put your shingle out in New
York," said Mr. Pierce, not quite knowing why, having previously decided
that they had had enough of Peter. "We shall be in the city early in
September, and ready to see our friends."