ergy now. "But, I say, don't you chuck that away; I want
that.--What did they want to shoot me there for--the cowards! Just as
if I was running away, when I was only obeying orders. If they had shot
me in front I could have seen to it myself.--I say, does it bleed much?"

"No, my lad; but it's an ugly place."

"Well, who wants it to be handsome? I ain't a girl. Think you can stop
it, private?"

"I think I can bind it up, Punch, and the bleeding will stop of itself."

"That's good. I say, though, private--sure to die after it, ain't I?"

"Yes, some day," said the young soldier, smiling encouragingly at the
speaker; and then by the help of a shirt-sleeve and a bandage which he
drew from his knapsack, the young soldier managed pretty deftly to bind
up his comrade's wound, and then place him in a more comfortable
position, lying upon his side.

"Thank ye!" said the boy with a sigh. "But, I say, you have give it me
hot."

"I am very sorry, boy."

"Oh, never mind that. But just wipe my face; it's all as wet as wet,
and the drops keep running together and tickling."

This little service was performed, and then the boy turned his head
uneasily aside.

"What is it, Punch?"

"That there bullet--where is it?"

"I have got it safe."

"That's right. Now, where's my bugle?"

"There it is, quite safe too."

"Yes, that's right," said the boy faintly. "I don't want to lose that;
but--Oh, I say, look at that there dent! What'll the colonel say when
he sees that?"

"Shall I tell you, Punch?" said the young man, who bent over him,
watching every change in his face.

"Yes--no. I know: `Careless young whelp,' or something; and the
sergeant--"

"Never mind the sergeant," said the young sharpshooter. "I want to tell
you what the colonel will say, like the gentleman he is."

"Then, what'll he say?" said the wounded lad drowsily.

"That he has a very brave boy in his regiment, and--Poor chap, he has
fainted again! My word, what a position to be in! Our fellows will
never be able to get back, and if I shout for help it means hospital for
him, prison for me. What shall I do?"

There was nothing to be done, as Pen Gray soon realised as he lay upon
his side in the shade of the steep valley, watching his wounded comrade,
who gradually sank into the sleep of exhaustion, while the private
listened for every sound that might suggest the coming on or retreating
of the French troops. His hopes rose once, for it