human
One morning, going early to visit some wounded soldiers who had come in during the night, I found in one tent a newcomer, lying in one of the bunks, his head and face bandaged and bloody. By his side sat his comrade,--wounded also, but less severely,--trying to soften for the other some corn-bread, which he was soaking and beating with a stick in a tin cup of cold water. He explained that the soldier with the bandaged head had been shot in the mouth, and could take only soft food. I said,
gpt
Don't give him that. I will bring him some mush and milk, or some chicken soup. He set down the cup, looked at me with queer, half-shut eyes, then remarked,
human
Yer ga-assin' now, ain't ye?
gpt
Now, what would _you_ like? After a moment's hesitation he replied,
human
Well, lady, I've been sort of hankerin' after a sweet-potato pone, but I s'pose ye couldn't noways get that?
gpt
There, thought I,