“Why didn’t you let Lieutenant Nickerson in here with the dog?” I asked--for I knew Muddy would stick with Jot--“I want to see them.” Next day Muddy was actually admitted with Jot, and both of them made a lot of fuss over me. “All of our men say that it was the bravest thing they ever saw,” praised Jot. “Nonsense!” I said, “to tell the truth, Jot, I was so busy thinking how to get the chaplain back that I absolutely forgot to be scared.” Jot laughed and said, “Colonel Burbank sends his compliments, and regrets for your wound, and says ‘like father like son.’” And that to me was the best praise of all. CHAPTER XIV THE CROIX DE GUERRE The bullet that put me in the hospital for several weeks had struck the fleshy part of my hip, glanced off from the bone, and had been extracted from the side. While a clean wound, I had lost a good deal of blood and this had weakened me. Just after the doctors had diagnosed my case and had discouraged me, Jot came in again to see me. I told him that I had hoped to stay in the service long enough to win a commission, but that the doctors were determined to have me tied up by my leg for several months; and that the war might be over before I could get back to duty again. “Don’t worry,” said Jot. “There will be enough fighting to last until you get onto your legs again. I guess the saw bones have camouflaged their description of your wound with their Latin, so that what is really a mole hill of a wound is made to look like a mountain, and have frightened you.” “No,” I said “not frightened, but discouraged me.” The chaplain’s wound was much more serious, though the doctors thought he would be able to resume his duties again if his wound healed as well as they expected. But they made so many qualifications that I mistrusted they were in the fog about it themselves. I was getting well fast; but was, as the surgeon said, “subconsciously restless.” The truth was, I could have sat up if they had let me. But they had me down! They were in command and there I was, like a healthy pup tied by the leg, and only able to run to the end of his string and yelp. It was three weeks before I was allowed to sit up! When the surgeon came to me I said, “Doctor, what is the matter with my getting out in the sun and having a breath of good air? I feel as well as I ever did.” The doctor, with cat-like softness, gave me a number of alarm calls in camouflaged language, which really meant, “Your quick recovery depends on obeying our orders, and keeping quiet!” All things have an end, however, and after a few weeks, that seemed months to me, I was allowed to get out into pure air. The nurse and doctor had not been so very bad, after all my growling. They had given me good things to eat, though a little stingy with mutton chops and beefsteaks; but I had plenty of good food.