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W. A. G.'s Tale by Margaret Turnbull
page 61 of 65 (93%)
Then Aunty May laid down her letter and came and sat down by me and
said, "Billy, how would you like to hear about Uncle Burt to-day?" and I
told her, "I'd like to." Aunty May told me then that Uncle Burt had been
shot very badly in the leg, and that he had a fever beside, and had
been so ill that they thought he would die, but that Aunty Edith had
gone out there and taken such good care of him that he was better, and
was coming back with Aunty Edith. I asked for how long, and Aunty May
got a little sad and said, "That's the hard part of it for Uncle Burt,
Billy. He won't ever be able to go back to the army again. His leg is so
badly hurt that he will always be a little lame."

Then Aunty May burst out crying, and so did I, for it seemed hard that
big, splendid Uncle Burt should be lame. By and by Aunty told me that
he had got the hurt when he turned back to help one of his men who had
been shot; that even though he was hurt himself, he brought the soldier
back to camp; so I ought to be proud of him.

But I was anyway, I told her. I couldn't be any more than I am. I knew
Uncle Burt would do a thing like that. I just expected it of him. But
I'd like to kill the man who hurt his leg.

Aunty May told me not to say that, for the poor thing had been killed,
and she said, "War is a horrible thing," And I said, "Yes, 'm, but it
wasn't a real war, only a skirmish"; and Aunty May said, "It was real
enough for that poor wretch and for Burt."

I said, "But Uncle Burt'll find something else to do, some other way to
be splendid, won't he?" And Aunty May just nodded her head, and we
didn't say anything more for a long time and I lay still thinking about
Uncle Burt and wondering how it would seem to be him, and lame. I said,
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