"Mr. Poor soul! she nearly died when she heard he had robbed his master; and it might have been well if she had done so, for she never afterwards recovered her reason. “By Jove!” he broke out, “one tries to take a serious, sober view. I sha'n't utter a word. ’ ‘Ah, that is easy,’ she began, laughing. She set her fingers in the hair and tugged, drawing him to a sitting posture and stooping so that her eyes would be on the level with his when he awoke. ’ ‘Militia, miss,’ Kimble corrected her.
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