It was an agonizing operation, for it has often seemed to me that the
more superficial the wound the greater the pain experienced in dealing
with it, and the perspiration stood in beads upon my forehead as she
worked quickly and with skill. At last the disagreeable task was
accomplished, the wounded shoulder completely bared. Her face was
deathly white now, and she shielded her eyes with her hand.

"Oh, what a horrible wound!" she exclaimed, almost sobbing. "How that
great brute must have hurt you!"

"The wound is not so serious as it appears," I replied reassuringly,
and glad myself to feel that I spoke the truth, "but I confess the pain
is intense, and makes me feel somewhat faint. It was not so much the
mere bite of the dog, but unfortunately he got his teeth into an old
wound and tore it open."

"An old wound?"

"Yes; I received a Minié ball there at Gettysburg, and although the
bullet was extracted, the wound never properly healed."

These words served to recall to her instantly the fact that I was not
of her own people; there appeared to come again into her manner that
marked restraint which had almost totally disappeared during the last
few minutes. Not that she failed in any kindness or consideration, but
a growing reserve put check upon what was fast becoming the intimacy of
friendship. Yet she performed her disagreeable task with all the
tenderness of a sympathetic woman, and as she worked swiftly and
deftly, made no attempt to conceal the tears clinging to her long