h their lines to some place and have begged a bit
of bread?"

"Perhaps, Punch, if I had not been taken."

"Well, then, why didn't you try?"

"Well, we have had that over times enough," said Pen quietly, "and I
think you know."

"Course I do," said the boy, changing his tone; "only this wound, and
being so hungry, do make me such a beast. If it had been you going on
like this, lying wounded here, and it was me waiting on you, and feeding
you, and tying you up, I should have been sick of it a week ago, and
left you to take your chance."

"No, you wouldn't, Punch, old chap; it isn't in you," said Pen, "so we
won't argue about that. I only want you to feel that I have done
everything I could."

"'Cept cutting off and leaving me to take my chance. You haven't done
that."

"No, I haven't done that, Punch."

"And I suppose you ain't going to," said the boy, "and I ought to tell
you you are a fool for your pains."

"But you are not going to do that, Punch."

"No, I suppose not; and I wish I wasn't such a beast--such an ungrateful
brute. It is all that sore place; and it don't get no better. But, I
say, why don't you go out straight and find the first lot of Frenchies
you can, and say to them like a man, `Here, I give myself up as a
prisoner'?"

"I told you, Punch, what I believe," replied Pen.

"Yes; you said you were afraid that they wouldn't have me carried away
on account of my wound."

"Well, that's what I do believe, Punch. I don't want to be hard on the
French, but they are a very rough lot here in this wild mountain-land,
and I don't believe they would burden themselves with wounded."

"Well, it wouldn't matter," said the boy dismally.

"Of course they wouldn't carry me about; but they would put me out of my
misery, and a good job too."

Pen said nothing, but his face wrinkled up with lines which made him
look ten years older, as he laid his hand upon his comrade's fevered
brow.

"Ha!" sighed Punch, "that does a fellow good. I don't believe any poor
chap ever had such a comrade as you are; and I lie here sometimes
wondering how you can do so much for such an--"

"Will you be quiet, Punch?" cried Pen, snatching away his hand.

"Yes, yes--please don't take it away."

"Then be quiet. You know how I hate you to talk like this."

"Yes, all right; I have done. But, I say, do you think it's likely that
gal will come again? She must know that what she brought wouldn't
last."

"I think, po