drivers and horsemen in my day, and I never saw a driver small or big who loved a horse as Freckles does Sir Wilton."
"You're right, Williams," returned the big fellow gruffly.
At this point in the conversation Mr. Williams spoke to the driver of the ambulance, and bade him go slow, that Sir Wilton might keep up.
The first thing that Freckles remembered after the sensation that his berth in the sleeper was rising up with him, was that of being in a clean white bed in a long quiet room. There were many other beds in this room,—a long row of them,—and on the pillow of each bed was a head, and all were the heads of children. Just what they were doing there he could not imagine. His own thoughts were all in a jumble. His head ached terribly, and there was a queer bag on it. It seemed to be full of something very cold. When he moved his head and pressed it against the contents of the bag, it felt better.
