While the ankle was being bathed and bandaged, the church bell flung forth to the scattering band of searchers the message that the one they sought was found. Once before on that night Charley had listened to the notes of that bell and trembled with terror. He trembled again, but it was with great joy, and in the midst of good resolutions, which, though unspoken then, he silently vowed should be faithfully remembered and faithfully kept. CHAPTER XXVIII COMRADES ALL. Charley was sitting on a big chair, his bandaged ankle resting on cushions piled in another chair, when Ned Osgood came to see him at noon the following day. Ned had visited him early that morning, but now he returned with his face aglow and his tongue eager with a message. “How’s the ankle, Shultzie?” he cried. “Oh, it’s pretty well,” was the answer. “Of course it gives me fits, especially when I have to move it a little, but then, I guess I can stand it.” He looked at Ned almost entreatingly. Osgood drew a chair close and sat down. “The fellows all want to know how you’re coming on,” he said. “Of course I’ve had to tell them all about it.” “Confound it!” exclaimed Shultz. “I don’t count in this business. How’s Hooker? That’s what I want to know.” “I’ve been to see him, too. He didn’t come to school this morning, but he’s all right, just the same. Says he’s stiff and lame, and all that, but thinks he’ll be frisky enough in a day or two.” “Does he—does he seem to be all right—in his head?” faltered Charley anxiously. “Oh, sure. There’s nothing the matter with him.” “Well, I’m mighty glad to hear it. You know I’ve been worrying—I just couldn’t help it. I kept thinking he might have a relapse or something—might lose his memory again.” “Pooh! Nonsense! The doctor says he’s O. K. and he’ll stay so.” “That’s great, Ned.” “Funny,” said Osgood, “but the first thing he did was to ask about you.” “I don’t see why he should care a rap about me. If it hadn’t been for me——” “Oh, cut that out! It’s plain bosh. Nobody thinks for a minute of putting it all on you, much less Hooker.” “You know, old man, I wish I could have said something when Roy spoke up the way he did last night and declared he was to blame. I felt something—something inside of me here, but I couldn’t say it to save my life. After I’m gone, I hope you’ll tell Hooker that I think him a dandy, a brick, the finest fellow in the world.” “After you’re gone? What do you mean by that?” “Of course I can’t go right away with this old ankle the way it is, but when it gets better so that I can leave Oakdale——” “Leave Oakdale!” exploded Osgood. “Why are you going to leave Oakdale? Tell me that.”