For three days he lay thus, cooling off and resting. He was fed and
cared for but he took no cognizance of it except to smile weakly.
Swallowing things was like breathing. You had to do it and you didn't
think about it. The fourth day he began to know the nurses apart, and
to realize he was feeling better. As yet the past lay like a blurr of
pain on his mind, and he hadn't a care about anything save just to lie
and know that it was good to smell the salt, and see the shimmer of
blue from the window. At times when he slept the sound of bells in old
hymns came to him like a dream and he smiled. But on the fifth morning
he lifted his light head uncertainly and looked out of the window.

Gee! That was pretty! And he dropped back and slept again. When he awoke
there was a real meal for him. No more slops. Soup, and potato and a
bit of bread and butter. Gee! It tasted good! He slept again and it was
morning, or was it the same morning? He didn't know. He tried to figure
back and decided he had been in that hospital about three days, but
when the next morning dawned and he felt the life creeping back into
his veins he began to be uncertain. He asked the nurse how soon he
could get up and get dressed. She smiled in a superior way and said the
doctor hadn't said. It would likely be sometime yet, he had been pretty
sick. He told her sharply he couldn't spare much more time, and asked
her where his clothes were.