hrust the pair of boots into his hands and gave him a hearty slap on
the back. "It's all right, comrade," cried the boy. "Foots soon gets
hard when you ain't got no shoes. Nature soles and heels them with her
own leather. Lots of our chaps have chucked their boots away, and don't
mind a bit. There was plenty of foots in the world, me boy, before
there was any brogues. I heered O'Grady say that one day to one of our
chaps who had had his boots stolen. I say, what are they going to do?"

This soon became evident, for the elder goat-herd, on seeing that the
lads were about to start in the direction of the valley, pressed upon
Pen a goatskin-bag which he took from a corner of the shelter, its
contents being a couple of bread-cakes, a piece of cheese like dried
brown leather, about a dozen onions, and the horn of salt.

"Come along, Punch," cried Pen cheerily. "They have given us a _quid
pro quo_ at all events."

"Have they?" cried Punch eagerly. "Take care of it then. I have often
longed for a bit when I felt so horribly hungry. Old O'Grady told me
over and over again that a chew of 'bacco is splendid when you ain't got
nothing to eat; so we will just try."

"What are you talking about?" said Pen, as they marched along the
mountain-slope like some one of old who "went delicately," for the way
was stony, and Nature had not had time to commence the promised soleing
and heeling process.

"What was I talking about? You said they'd slipped some 'bacco into the
bag."

"Nonsense!" cried Pen.

"I swear you did. You said quid something."

"I said a few Latin words that sounded like it."

"Well, look ye here, comrade; don't do it again. Latin was all very
well for that old _padre_--good old chap! Bless his bald head! Regular
trump he was! And parlyvooing was all very well for Mr Contrabando;
but plain English for Bob Punchard, sivvy play, as we say in French."

CHAPTER FORTY TWO.

FRIEND AND ENEMY.

The two lads started off light-hearted and hopeful, for if they could
trust the goat-herds, whose information seemed to be perfectly correct,
a day's journey downward to the river in the valley, though seeming far
distant, must bring them pretty near the goal they sought--in other
words, the headquarters of the army that had crossed over from Portugal
into Spain to drive back the French usurper, the task having been given
to England's most trusted General, Wellesley, who was in time to come
always to be