whispered the boy huskily.

"Oh yes; tell me. I can bear it."

"Well, it seems to me, comrade, as we have got out of the frying-pan
into the fire."

"Why, what do you mean?"

"That we thought the old chap was going to sell us to the French when
all the time it was to some of those Spanish thieves, and it's them as
has come now to take us away.--Here, wait a minute."

"I can't, Punch. I can't bear it."

"I'm afraid you will have to, comrade--both on us--like Englishmen. But
if we are to be shot for furriners I should like it to have been as
soldiers, and by soldiers who know how to use their guns, and not by
Spanish what-do-you-call-'ems--robbers and thieves--with little short
blunderbusters."

There was a few moments' pause, during which hurried talking went on.
Then a couple more fierce-looking Spaniards came in, saluted the priest,
lit cigarettes at the lamp, and propped the short carbines they carried
against the cottage-wall before joining in the conversation.

"What are they doing now, Punch?"

"Talking about shooting or something," whispered the boy, "and that old
ruffian's laughing and pointing up at the ceiling to tell them he has
got us safe. Oh, murder in Irish!" continued the boy. "He's took up
the lamp and he's showing them the way. Here, Private Gray, try and
pull yourself together and let's make a fight for it, if we only have a
shot apiece. They are coming up to fetch us now."

Pen stretched out his hand in the dim loft to seize his musket, but he
could not reach it, while in his excitement the boy did not notice his
comrade's helplessness, but seized his own weapon and stood up ready as
the light and shadows danced in the gloomy loft, and prepared to give
the armed strangers a warm reception.

And now the door at the foot of the ladder creaked and the light of the
lamp struck up as the old man began to ascend the few steps till he
could reach up, thrusting the lamp he carried before him, and placing it
upon the floor, pushing it farther along towards the two boys; and then,
drawing himself up, he lifted the light and held it so that those who
followed him could see their way.

At that moment he caught sight of Punch's attitude, and a smile broke
out across his face.

"No, no!" he said eagerly. "_Amigos! Contrabandistas_."

"What does he mean by that, Pen?"

"That they are friends."

And the head of the first friend now appeared above the trap in the
shape of the first-comer,