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kind! The cupboard contained all that had
been saved, said the Mayor, from the
wreckage of the chemist’s shop struck by the very
first shell that had fallen on the village,
killing the chemist outright, and destroying
all its scanty supplies.
“I am not a surgeon,” said the old village
Doctor humbly. “I have never been a
surgeon; all our surgical cases were sent to
St. ——, and my other colleague here was
mobilized as soon as the war broke out. I
have no instruments, not even an artery
forceps, and I should not know how to use
them if I had any. Do you hear their groans?
For three days and nights this terrible sound
has not been out of my ears! It may be
easier to bear for a young man like you—
I am sure you are not half my age—but I feel
I can stand it no longer, it is killing me. I
am sixty-five, but I had hardly a grey hair
three days ago. Look at me now; my wife
says I am all white!”
The young doctor looked at the kind face
of his old colleague, wondering to himself
whether he would not rather have been one
of the men on the straw-covered floor than
to have had to live through these three nights
and days as their doctor, powerless to help his
patients to live, powerless to help them to die.
And no morphia, priceless and mysterious
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