"I'd give all the world to be one of your dogs, Miss Linton, or your bird." "Do you mean to be a goose?" said Miss Linton, laughing. "There, I did not mean to hurt your feelings," she added frankly; "but come, now, give up all this silly nonsense, and try to remember that you are after all but a boy, whom I want to look upon as a very dear friend." "Do you really?" said Bob. "I do, really," said Miss Linton, holding out her hand; "a friend whom I can believe in and trust, out in this dangerous place, and one who will not make my life wretched by being silly, romantic, and sentimental." Bob gripped the hand extended to him, and held it for a few moments. "There," he said firmly, as he seemed to shake himself together, "I see it now. It's all right, Miss Linton; and it's better to be a brick of a boy than a weak, puling noodle of a man, isn't it?" "Indeed it is," cried Miss Linton, laughing merrily. "There, I'm your man--I mean I'm your boy," cried Bob; "and I'll let you see that I'm a very different fellow to what you think. Now I want to go and see poor old Tom Long. I am sorry he's hurt." "You are now more like the Bob Roberts, midshipman," said Miss Linton, "whom I saw first some months ago, than I have seen for a long time." "All right," said Bob; "now let's go and see the other poor boy." "Come along, then," she said, smiling; "but I'm afraid that Tom Long will not be so easy to convince that he has not yet arrived at years of discretion." As she spoke Miss Linton softly opened the door unseen, and let Bob Roberts enter a cool and airy well-shaded room, closing the door upon him, and herself gliding away. CHAPTER TWELVE. A DISCUSSION UPON WOUNDS. "Avast there! what cheer, my hearty? Heave ahead, my military swab. How goes it!" cried Bob, as Tom raised himself a little on his couch, evidently very glad to see his old companion. "Oh, not quite killed," he said. "Gently; don't shake a fellow to pieces." "Where's the wound?" cried Bob. "Ain't going to send in the number of your mess, are you?" "No, I'm not," cried Tom Long, flushing up; "and if I ever do come across the chief fellow who gave me such a nasty dig, he'll remember it to the end of his days." "What was it--a spear or a kris?" said Bob. "Kris, right through my left shoulder. Doctor Bolter says if it had been four inches lower it would have been fatal." "Bother!" cried Bob. "If it had been four inches higher it would have missed you altogether." "Yes, of course," said Tom; "but it's precious unpleasant to have a fellow stick his skewer right through you." "Well, I don't know," said Bob, who had made up his mind that the proper thing was to try and cheer the ensign, and not to let him think he was very bad. "I think I'd just as soon have it right through as only half-way." "Oh, it's nothing to laugh at, I can tell you," said Tom Long, "I don't see why you mightn't just as well have had it as me. You always get off all right."