seemed to him that
the tide of war was ebbing and flowing lower down the valley, and his
spirits rose as the mountain-breeze brought the sounds of firing
apparently nearer and nearer, till he felt that the English troops had
not only rallied, but were driving back the French over the ground by
which they had come. But as the day wore on he found that his hopes
were false; and, to make their position worse, fresh troops had come
down the valley and were halted about a quarter of a mile from where he
and his sleeping companion lay; while, lower down, the firing, which had
grown fiercer and fiercer, gradually died out.

He was intently straining his ears, when to his surprise the afternoon
sun began to flash upon the weapons of armed men, and once more his
hopes revived in the belief that the French were being driven back; but
to his astonishment and dismay, as they came more and more into sight, a
halt seemed to have been called, and they too settled down into a
bivouac, and communications by means of mounted men took place between
them and the halted party higher up the valley; the young rifleman, by
using great care, watching the going to and fro unseen.

Evening was coming on, and Pen Gray was still watching and wondering
whether it would be possible to take advantage of the darkness, when it
fell, to try and pass down the valley, circumvent the enemy, and
overtake their friends, when the wounded boy's eyes unclosed, and he lay
gazing wonderingly in his comrade's eyes.

"Better, Punch?" said Pen softly.

"What's the matter?" was the reply; and the boy gazed in his face in a
dazed, half-stupid way.

"Don't you remember, lad?"

"No," was the reply. "Where's the ridgment?"

"Over yonder. Somewhere about the mouth of the valley, I expect."

"Oh, all right. What time is it?"

"I should think about five. Why?"

"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 y