At length he turned toward Wid, who stood close to him.
"Hit!" said he.--"I know, now." No one said anything to this.

After a time he reached out a hand and touched almost timidly the arm of his friend.

His voice was laboring and not strong.
"Where's--where's my hat ?" he whispered at length.
"Your hat ?" said Wid.

"Your hat ?--Now, why--I reckon it's hanging around somewheres here.

What makes you want it ?" But some one had heard the request and came through the little hallway with Sim Gage's hat, brave green cord and all.
The wounded man looked at it and smiled, as sweet a smile as may come to a man's face--the smile of a boy.