tion between him and those
he had brought to his home; for though the words possessed a
pronunciation that was unfamiliar, the old Latin tongue recalled to Pen
years of study in the past, and he snatched at the opportunity of saying
a few words that the old man could understand.

A pleasant smile beamed on the utterly wearied out old fellow's
countenance as he bent over Pen and patted him gently on the shoulder.

"Good, good!" he said in Latin; and he set himself about the task of
supplying them with food.

This was simple enough, consisting as it did of bread and herbs--just
such a repast as might have been expected from some ascetic holy man
dwelling in the mountains; but the herbs in this case were silvery-brown
skinned Spanish onions with salt.

Then taking up a small earthen jar, he passed out of the dark room into
the sunshine; and as soon as the boys were alone Punch turned eagerly to
his companion.

"Not worse, are you, comrade?" he said anxiously.

"No, Punch, not worse. But has he gone to fetch water?"

"Yes, I think so. But just you tell me: does your leg hurt you much?"

"Quite enough," replied Pen, breaking off a portion of the bread and
placing a few fragments between his lips. "But don't talk to me now. I
am starving."

"Yes, I know that," cried Punch; "and call this 'ere bread! It's all
solid crust, when it ought to be crumb for a chap like you. Look here,
you could eat one of these onions, couldn't you?"

"No, no; not now. Go on; never mind me."

"But I do mind you," cried the boy. "And how can I go on eating without
you? I say, though, what a chap you are! What was that you said to
him?"

"Bless you for this!"

"Yes, I guessed that was it; but how did you say it so as to make him
understand? I talked to him enough, but he couldn't make out a word of
what I said. Was that there Spanish?"

"No, Punch; Latin."

"Ah, you seem to know everything."

At that moment a shadow fell athwart the door, and the speaker made a
dash at one of the muskets he had stood up against the wall on entering
the priest's cottage.

"Oh, I beg your pardon, sir!" he cried hastily. "I didn't know it was
you."

The old man smiled, and entered with the dripping jar which he had just
filled from a neighbouring spring, and held it towards the boy.

"Me drink, sir? Thank ye, sir," cried Punch; and, taking the jar, he
was raising it towards his parched mouth, but before it was half-way
there he rec