"Why?" said the boy. "Because there will be a row. Why are we here?"

"Waiting till you are better before trying to join our company."

"Better? Have we been resting, then, because my feet were so bad with the marching?"

Pen was silent as he half-knelt there, listening wonderingly to his comrade's half-delirious queries, and asking himself whether he had better tell the boy their real position.

"So much marching," continued the boy, "and those blisters. Ah, I remember! I say, private, didn't I get a bullet into me, and fall right down here? Yes, that's it. Here, Private Gray, what are you going to do?"

"Ah, what are we going to do?" said the young man sadly. "I was in hopes that you would be so much better, or rather I hoped you might, that we could creep along after dark and get back to our men; but I am afraid--"

"So'm I," said the boy bitterly, as he tried to move himself a little, and then sank back with a faint groan. "Couldn't do it, unless two of our fellows got me in a sergeant's sash and carried me."

"I'd try and carry you on my back," said Pen, "if you could bear it."

"Couldn't," said the boy abruptly. "I say, where do you think our lads are?"

"Beaten, perhaps taken prisoners," said Pen bitterly.

"Serve 'em right--cowards! To go and leave us behind like this!"

"Don't talk so much."

"Why?"

"It will make you feverish; and it's of no use to complain. They couldn't help leaving us. Besides, I was not left."

"Then how come you to be here?" said the boy sharply.

"I came after you, to help you."

"More old stupid you! Didn't you know when you were safe?"

Pen raised his brows a little and looked half-perplexed, half-amused at the irritable face of his comrade, who wrinkled up his forehead with pain, drew a hard breath, and then whispered softly, "I say, comrade, I oughtn't to have said that there, ought I?"

Pen was silent.

"You saw me go down, didn't you?"

Pen bowed his head.

"And you ran back to pick me up? Ah!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, drawing his breath hard.

"Wound hurt you much, my lad?"

"Ye-es," said the lad, wincing; "just as if some one was boring a hole through my shoulder with a red-hot ramrod."

"Punch, my lad, I don't think it's a bad wound, for while you were asleep I looked, and found that it had stopped bleeding."

"Stopped? That's a good job; ain't it, comrade?"

"Yes; and with a healthy young fellow like you a wound soon begins to heal up if the wounded man lies quiet."

"But I'm only a boy, private."

"Then the wound will heal all the more readily."

"I say, how do you know all this?" said the boy, looking at him curiously.

"By reading."

"Reading! Ah, I can't read--not much; only little words. Well, then, if you know that, I have got to lie still, then, till the hole's grown up. I say, have you got that bullet safe?"

"Oh yes."

"Don't you lose it, mind, because I mean to keep that to show people at home. Even if I am a boy I should like people to know that I have been in the wars. So I have got to lie still and get well? Won't be bad if you could get me a bundle or two of hay and a greatcoat to cover over me. The wind will come down pretty cold from the mountains; but I sha'n't mind that so long as the bears don't come too. I shall be all right, so you had better be off and get back to the regiment, and tell them where you have left me. I say, you will get promoted for it."

"Nonsense, Punch! What for?"

"Sticking to a comrade like this. I have been thinking about it, and I call it fine of you running back to help me, with the Frenchies coming on. Yes, I know. Don't make faces about it. The colonel will have you made corporal for trying to save me."

"Of course!" said Pen sarcastically. "Why, I'm not much older than you--the youngest private in the regiment; more likely to be in trouble for not keeping in the ranks, and shirking the enemy's fire."

"Don't you tell me," said the boy sharply. "I'll let the colonel and everybody know, if ever I get back to the ranks again."

"What's that?" said Pen sharply. "If ever you get back to the ranks again! Why, you are not going to set up a faint heart, are you?"

"'Tain't my heart's faint, but my head feels sick and swimmy. But, I say, do you think you ought to do any more about stopping up the hole so as to give a fellow a chance?"

"I'll do all I can, Punch," said Pen; "but you know I'm not a surgeon."

"Course I do," said the boy, laughing, but evidently fighting hard to hide his suffering. "You are better than a doctor."

"Better, eh?"

"Yes, ever so much, because you are here and the doctor isn't."

The boy lay silent for a few minutes, evidently thinking deeply.

"I say, private," he said at last, "I can't settle this all out about what's going to be done; but I think this will be best."

"What?"

"What I said before. You had better wait till night, and then creep off and follow our men's track. It will be awkward in the dark, but you ought to be able to find out somehow, because there's only one road all along by the side of this little river. You just keep along that while it's dark, and trust to luck when it's daytime again. Only, look here, my water-bottle's empty, so, as soon as you think it's dark enough, down you go to the river, fill it, and bring it back, and I shall be all right till our fellows fight their way back and pick me up."

"And if they are not able to--what then?" said Pen, smiling.

"Well, I shall wait till I get so hungry I can't wait any longer, and then I will cry _chy-ike_ till the Frenchies come and pick me up. But, I say, they won't stick a bayonet through me, will they?"