"His hip was dislocated and his leg-bone broken," said Jolly Roger
when he had finished. "He is all right now, and inside of three
weeks will be on his feet again."
He lifted Peter gently, and made him a nest among the blankets in
his bunk. And then, still with that strange, gray look in his
face, he turned to Nada.
She was standing partly facing the door, her eyes straight on him.
And Jolly Roger saw in them that wonderful something which had
given his storm-beaten soul a glimpse of paradise earlier that
day. They were blue, so blue that he had never seen violets like
them--and he knew that in her heart there was no guile behind
which she could hide the secret they were betraying. A yearning
such as had never before come into his life urged him to open his
arms to her, and he knew that she would have come into them; but a
still mightier will held them tense and throbbing at his side. Her
cheeks were aflame as she looked at him, and he told himself that
God could not have made a lovelier thing, as she stood there in
her worn dress and her ragged shoes, with that light of glory in
her face, and her damp hair waving and curling about her in the
last light of the day.
"I knew you'd fix him, Mister-Roger," she whispered, a great pride
and faith and worship in the low thrill of her voice. "I knew it!"
Something choked Jolly Roger, and he turned to the stove and began
spearing the crisp brown potatoes on the end of a fork.
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