standing up by the side."

"Yes, but there's another one outside somewhere, for I tried, and the
door won't move. I think he's gone to tell somebody we are here, and he
has shut us up so that we sha'n't get away while he's gone."

"No, no," said Pen impatiently. "The old man means well to us; I am
sure of that."

"That's what I keep thinking, comrade; but then I keep thinking, too,
that he's going to get something given him for taking two prisoners to
give up to the French."

"Nonsense! It is cowardly and ungenerous to think so."

"Then what's he been gone such a long time for? It's hours since he
went away and shut us in."

"Hours?"

"Yes; you don't know, because you sleep so much."

"Well, I don't believe he'd betray us. The old man's too good and
generous for that."

"Then, why has he made prisoners of us?" said Punch sourly. "Why has he
shut us up?"

"To keep anybody else from coming in," said Pen decisively. "What time
can it be now?"

"Getting on towards sunset. Pst! Here he comes--or somebody else."

All doubts as to who it was were put an end to the next minute, for the
familiar step of the old priest approached the door. They plainly heard
what seemed to be another bar removed, and the old man stood before them
with a big basket on his arm, and remained looking back as if to see
whether he had been followed.

Then, apparently satisfied, he came in, closed the door, and smilingly
placed the contents of the basket before them.

He had evidently been some distance, and looked hot and weary; but he
was quite ready to listen to Pen's lame efforts to make known his
desires that they should now say good-bye, and, with his help as to
direction, continue their journey.

The little man stood up smiling before Pen, listening patiently to the
lad's blundering Latin, probably not understanding half, and only
replying with a word or two from time to time, these words from their
pronunciation puzzling Pen in turn; but it was evident to Punch, the
listener, that on the whole a mutual understanding was arrived at, for
all at once the priest offered Pen his arm, and as the lad took it he
helped him to walk across the room and back to the pallet, where he
pressed him back so that he sat down in spite of himself, when the old
man patted him on the shoulder, smiling gently, and then going down on
one knee passed his hand softly over the wound, and, looking up, shook
his head sadly.

"What does he m