he
might have lived to die like this."

"He ain't a-going to die," said Tom, sniffing again.

"He is--he is; and no doctor near!"

"No," said Tom, with another sniff; "he's miles away, along o' them poor
wounded chaps we left behind."

"I can do nothing, nothing more--and he's somebody's bairn!"

"Yes," said the boy hoarsely, "and the Frenchies killed 'em, for Joe
Beane telled the men as the sight he see was horrid."

"Hush! Ah, look," whispered the woman, and she bent over the poor
little victim, who wailed faintly, "Oh, don't--don't--Ah!"

Then he lay silent and motionless, as his rough nurse softly laid her
hand upon the fire-scorched forehead.

"Why, that there ain't Portygeeze," whispered Tom, staring.

"Well, old gal, what about him now?"

"Oh, I don't know, Joe; I don't know. He just spoke a little."

"Poor little nipper. All right, my gal; you'll bring him round."

Tom had ceased sniffing and had turned to give a long stare at the men
grouped round the pot, to see that they had done eating and were
lighting their pipes.

"Might ha' arxed a pore chap to have had a bit, corporal," he said.

"Ay, we might, lad; but then you see we was all so hungry we mightn't,
and you're only a boy."

"Yes, that's it," grumbled Tom, wrenching his bugle round and giving it
a vicious polish with his sleeve. "Allus the same; on'y a boy; just as
if I could help that!"

"And such a hungry sort o' boy; holler all through. It's a waste to
give you good food. That there stoo was evvinly."

Joe turned away from Tom's sour puckered face, to bend over the
insensible little patient with a look full of pity, as he wiped his
mouth with the back of his hand.

"I should just liked to have been there, missus, with my bay'net fixed
when they cut that little fellow down. Here, I'll sit and have a pipe
and keep the flies off him, while you go and pick a bit. The boys
wouldn't touch a morsel till I'd put aside some for you and Tom."

That night the 200th was still marching on where they were to camp in
the mountains, while on a rough kind of litter formed of a long basket
strapped upon the back of a mule, with a couple of great-coats and a
blanket for bed, lay the poor child whose life Mrs Beane was trying to
save.

It was a long and a weary forced march, for scouts had brought in news
which made the officers hope to come in touch of the retreating army
before morning, for the news had spread, and during the night the