anything, Punch; and be quiet. He will be coming up soon,
I dare say."

"Wish he'd come, then," said the boy wearily. "I say, how's your leg?"

"Hurts," said Pen curtly.

"Poor old chap! Can't you turn yourself round?"

"No. It's worse when I try to move it."

"That's bad; but, I say, you see now we couldn't have gone away unless I
carried you."

"But it seems so unfair to be staying here," said Pen bitterly. "I
believe now I could limp along very slowly."

"I don't," said Punch. "You see, those Frenchies have made up their
minds to catch us, and I believe if they caught sight of us creeping
along now they would let go at us again; and as we have had a bullet
apiece, we don't want any more."

"Hist!" whispered Pen; "they think we are here still, and they are
coming back."

"Nonsense! Fancy!"

"Listen."

"Oh, murder!" whispered Punch. "This is hard!" For he could distinctly
hear hurried steps approaching the cottage, and he placed his eye to the
knot-hole again to see what effect it was having upon the old man. But
he was so still as he crouched there in the lamplight that it seemed as
if he had dropped asleep, worn out by his efforts, till all at once the
footsteps ceased and there was a sharp tapping on the door, given in a
peculiar way, first a rap, then a pause, then two raps close together,
another pause, and then _rap, rap, rap_, quickly.

The old man sprang to his feet, unbarred the door, and seized it to
throw it open.

"It's all over, comrade," whispered Punch. "Well, let's fill our
pockets with the prog. I don't want to starve any more."

He placed his eye to the knot-hole again, and then turned his head to
whisper to his companion.

"'Tain't the Frenchmen," he said. "It's one of the Spanish chaps with a
red handkercher tied round his head, and him and the old priest is
friends, for they are a hugging one another. This chap has got a short
gun, and now he's lighting a cigarette at the lamp. Can you hear me?"

"Yes; go on."

"There's four more of them outside the door, and they have all got short
guns. One of them's holding one of them horse-donkeys. Oh, I say,
comrade!" continued the boy, as a quick whispering went on and the
aromatic, pungent odour of tobacco floated up between the boards.

"What is it, Punch? Oh, go on--tell me! You can see, and I'm lying
here on my back and can make out nothing. What does it all mean?"

"Well, I don't like to tell you, comrade?"