In a dark room, full of beds and invalid soldiers, Karl lay pale and suffering, and reached out his left hand to Anton.

"It is over," he said; "it hurt me most confoundedly, but I shall be able to use the hand again.

I can still guide a pen, and shall try to do every thing else, if not with the right hand, why, with the left.

Only I shall never again cut a figure in gold rings." "My poor, poor Karl," cried Anton; "it's all over with your soldiering." "Do you know," said Karl, "I can stand that misfortune pretty well.
After all, it was not a regular war; and when spring and sowing-time comes, I shall be all right again.

I could get up now if the doctor were not so strict.