w can I help it? I get so holler," grumbled the boy. "It's
'cause I'm growing."

Five minutes later a tall manly-looking soldier came down the rugged
track, with his face and hands torn and bleeding, and dropped upon his
knees before his astonished wife and a group of half a dozen men who
hurried up.

"Oh, Joe," cried the woman, "what have you got there?"

"Young shaver," panted the man. "Found big house yonder, half burnt.
Five dead folk, and this here."

"Oh, Joe!" cried the woman, taking her husband's burden from him,
sinking upon her knees, and laying the head of a handsome little fellow
of about eight against her breast, to begin rocking herself to and fro
and sobbing bitterly. "Oh, the wicked cruel wretches! To go and murder
a poor little boy like this! Look at his face! Look at his hair, half
burned off, and the rest all blood. Oh! If you were men you'd ketch
and kill some of 'em for this."

A low growl arose from the soldiers around, and Tom Jones sniffed, drew
his bugle round from where it hung at his back, and dropped two silent
tears in its mouth.

"You Tom," cried Mrs Beane, "don't stand sniffing and snivelling there
like a great bull calf. Take the tin dipper and fetch it full of clean
water. Oh, Joe, Joe! It's too late. The poor little darling's dead."

"Warn't when I fun' him," said the corporal. "He'd crep' away a bit,
and he moved one hand."

"Yes, and he's warm still," cried the woman excitedly. "Here, you men,
clear off. You go and serve out the mess, Joe. Never mind me."

"But you'll want a bit o' dinner, missus; and I found two ripe melons up
in the garden there, but I left 'em behind."

"Don't talk to me about melons and dinners," cried the woman angrily.
"Go and get your own, all of you; and how much longer's that boy going
to be?"

Not many minutes before he appeared, not with the tin dipper but a whole
bucketful of clear cold water, forgetting all about his sore feet; and
while the men went and sat round the iron pot of savoury hotch-potch,
Tom Jones stayed behind to help bathe and bandage the head of the
handsome little fellow upon whose sunburned face more than one hot tear
fell, as loving hands made him up a temporary bed of great-coats in the
shade.

"Oh, Tom, Tom!" sobbed the big rough coarse woman, as she knelt there at
last after doing all she could, "many's the time that I've prayed that I
might have a little boy to call my own; but Heaven knows best, and