19
It was three hours before Claudette brought the boy to Kennedy. She spoke in French, with MacKim translating.
“Look after him, Lieutenant, he’s had quite an ordeal,” she said. “He was on that ice floe for two days, I think, all the time thinking he was going to die.”
The boy stood at the woman’s side. He was thin, evidently nervous, but his eyes roved around Kennedy’s tiny room, taking everything in. He gave MacKim a shy smile.
“Do you have a name, boy?” MacKim asked sternly. The only boys he had met were the regimental drummer-boys in Fraser’s Highlanders, cocky, cheeky youths who gave the privates as much trouble as they could.
“Louis, monsieur,” the boy replied. He had a squat, ugly face beneath bright eyes.
“This is the man who saved your life, Louis,” the woman said quietly.
