He's not drowsy and he's feeling pain.
His leg, in the face of other possibilities, is merely painful.

But I must look at his head--" "Frank, darlin'," said Kenny patiently, "I brought you up here to order us all around.

Go to it." He flung himself into a chair by the stove and drowsing after a while in a reactive sweep of exhaustion, awakened with a terrified jerk.

A boy was banking the red-hot stove, his white face like and yet unlike--Joan's.
"Mr.O'Neill," he blurted with a boyish sob, "I--I did it.

I was driving the mule-cart up the path.