n the sleeping lad's forehead,
and then sinking back again with a faint ejaculation of pain.

"Don't be scared, comrade; it's only me. Does it hurt you?"

"Yes, my leg's horribly stiff and painful."

"Poor chap! Never mind. I will bathe it and dress it by-and-by if that
old priest don't do it. When you jumped up like that I thought you
fancied it was the French coming."

"I did, Punch," said Pen with a faint smile. "I seem to have been
dreaming all night that they were after us, and I could not get away
because my leg hurt me so."

"Then lie down again," said Punch. "Things ain't so bad as that. But,
I say, comrade, I can't help it; I am as bad as ever again."

"Bad! Your wound?"

"No, no; that's getting all right. But that old chap seems to have shut
us up here and gone. Didn't happen to see, did you, where he put the
bread and onions? I am quite hollow inside."

"No, Punch. I fell asleep, and I can't recollect how or when."

"That's a pity, 'cause I know we should be welcome, and I can't make out
where he put the forage when he cleared away."

It was the sunrise of a bright morning, and the sounds of bleating goats
came plainly to the listeners' ears as the nimble animals were making
their way up the valley-side to their pasture.

Then all at once came the sharp creak of a board, and Punch dashed at
his musket, caught it up, cocked it, and stood ready to use it in
defence of his companion.

There was another creak or two, evidently from overhead, and as Punch
stood there on the alert, his brows knit and teeth clenched, Pen softly
stole his hand in the direction of his own musket and raised himself up
on the bed ready to help.

Again there came a creak or two, a rustling in the corner of the room as
of some one descending from above, and, though invisible, the muzzles of
the two pieces were slowly lowered in the direction of the noise, till
with a crack the door in the corner was thrust inward and the little old
priest stood looking wonderingly from one to the other as he raised his
hand.

It was as if this were a signal to disarm, when the two muskets were
hurriedly replaced, and Punch advanced towards the corner of the room,
offering to shake hands.

The priest smiled, took the boy's fingers, and then, thrusting to the
door, he crossed to the bed, felt Pen's forehead, and afterwards pointed
to the wounded leg.

The next minute he went to the door, removed the great bar, and admitted
t