!Tention Part 8

"Ah!" sighed the young soldier, "who'd have thought that taking the king's shilling would bring a fellow to this? Now for poor Punch.

Well, we sha'n't starve to-night."

Once more as he turned from the goat the thought a.s.sailed him that one of the vedettes might be in sight; but all was still and beautiful as he stepped back slowly, eating with avidity portions of the gradually softening black-bread, and feeling the while that life and hope and strength were gradually coming back.

"Now for poor Punch!" he muttered again; and, entering the rough shelter once more, he stood looking down upon the wounded boy, who was sleeping heavily, so soundly that Pen felt that it would be a cruelty to rouse him. So, partaking sparingly of his novel meal, he placed a part upon a stool within reach of the rough pallet.

"Wounded men don't want food," he muttered. "It's Nature's way of keeping off fever; and I must keep watch again, and give him a little milk when he wakes. Yes, when he wakes--when he wakes," he muttered, as he settled himself upon the earthen floor within touch of his sleeping comrade. "Mustn't close the door," he continued, with a little laugh, "for there doesn't seem to be one; and, besides, it would make the place dark. Why, there's a star peeping out over the shoulder of the mountain, and that soft, low, deep hum is the falling water. Why, that must be the star I used to see at home in the old days; and, oh, how beautiful and restful everything seems! But I mustn't go to sleep.--Are you asleep, Punch?" he whispered softly. "Poor fellow! That's right.

Sleep and Nature will help you with your wound; but I must keep awake.

It would never do for you to rouse up and find me fast. No," he half-sighed. "Poor lad, you mustn't go yet where so many other poor fellows have gone. A boy like you! Well! It's the--fortune--fortune-- of war--and--and--"

Nature would take no denial. Pen Gray drew one long, deep, restful breath as if wide-awake, and then slowly and as if grudgingly respired.

Fast asleep.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

MORE ABOUT HIM.

It was bright daylight, and Pen Gray started up in alarm, his mind in a state of confusion consequent upon the heaviness of his sleep and the feeling of trouble that something--he knew not what--had happened.

For a few moments he was divided between the ideas that the enemy had come to arrest him and that his companion had pa.s.sed away in his sleep.

But these were only the ragged shadows of the night, for the boy was still sleeping soundly, the food remained untouched, and, upon cautiously looking outside, there was nothing to be seen but the beauties of a sunny morn.

Pen drew a deep breath as he returned to the hut, troubled with a sensation of weariness and strain, but still light-hearted and hopeful.

There was something invigorating in the mountain air even deep down there in the valley, and he was ready to smile at his position as his eyes lit upon the little pail.

"Oh, I say," he said to himself, "it is like temptation placed in one's way! How horribly hungry I am! Well, no wonder; but I must play fair."

Taking out his knife, he was about to divide the piece of cake, which had so swollen up in the milk that there seemed to be a goodly portion for two; but, setting his teeth hard, he shut the knife with a snap and pulled himself together.

"Come," he muttered, "I haven't gone through all this drilling for months to s.n.a.t.c.h the first chance to forget it. I will begin the day by waiting until poor Punch wakes."

He gave another look at his companion to make sure that he was still sleeping soundly and was no worse; and then, after glancing at the priming of his rifle, he stepped out to reconnoitre, keeping cautiously within shelter of the trees, but not obtaining a glimpse of any of the vedettes.

"Looks as if they have gone," he thought, and he stepped to the edge of another patch of woodland to again sweep the valley-sides as far as was possible.

This led him to the edge of the river, where, as soon as he appeared, he was conscious of the fact that scores of semi-transparent-looking fish had darted away from close to his feet, to take shelter beneath stones and the bank higher up the stream, which glided down towards the fall pure as crystal and sparkling in the sun.

"Trout!" he exclaimed. "Something to forage for; and then a fire.

Doesn't look like starving."

Pen took another good look round, but nothing like a vedette or single sentry was in view; and after a few moments of hesitation he s.n.a.t.c.hed at the opportunity.

Stepping back into the shelter of the woods, he hurriedly stripped, after hanging his rifle from a broken branch, and then dashing out into the sunshine he leaped at once into the beautiful, clear, sparkling water, which flashed up at his plunge. Then striking out, he swam with vigorous strokes right into the depths, and felt that he was being carried steadily downward towards the fall.

This was something to make him put forth his strength; and as he struck out upstream so as to reach the bank again there was something wondrously invigorating in the cool, crisp water which sent thrills of strength through his exhausted frame, making the lad laugh aloud as he fought against the pressure of the water, won, and waded ash.o.r.e nearly a hundred yards below where he had plunged in.

"What a stream!" he exclaimed as he shook the streaming water from his tense muscles. "I must mind another time. How cold it was! But how hot the sun feels! Double!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, and he started along the bank in a military trot, reached the spot again where he had made his plunge, looked round, indulged in another run in the brilliant sunshine, and, pretty well half-dried by his efforts, stepped back into the wood and rapidly resumed his clothes.

"Why, it has pretty well taken the stiffness out of me," he muttered, "and I feel ready for anything, only I'm nearly famished. Here, I can't wait," he added, as he finished dressing, smartening himself up into soldierly trim, and giving his feet a stamp or two as he resumed his boots. "Now, how about poor Punch? He can't be worse, for he seemed to have slept so well. It seems hard, but I must wake him up."

To the lad's great satisfaction, as he reached the door of the rough cabin, he found that the wounded boy was just unclosing his eyes to look at him wonderingly as if unable to make out what it all meant.

"Gray," he said faintly.

"Yes. How are you, lad?"

"I--I don't quite know," was the reply, given in a faint voice.--"Oh, I recollect now. Yes. There, it stings--my wound."

"Yes, I'll bathe it and see to it soon," said Pen eagerly; "but you are no worse."

"Ain't I? I--I thought I was. I say, look here, Gray; what does this mean? I can't lift this arm at all. It hurts so."

"Yes. Stiff with your wound; but it will be better when I have done it up."

"Think so?"

"Yes."

"But look here."

"Yes, I am looking."

"This arm isn't wounded. Look at that."

"Yes, I see; you lifted it up and it fell down again."

"Yes. There's no strength in it. It ain't dead yet?"

"Didn't seem like it," said Pen, smiling cheerily. "You lifted it up."

"Yes, I know; but it fell back again. And what's the matter with my voice?"

"Nothing."

"Yes, there is," cried the boy peevishly. "It's all gone squeaky again, like it was before it changed and turned gruff. I say, Gray, am I going to be very bad, and never get well again?"

"Not you! What nonsense!"

"But I am so weak."

"Well, you have seen plenty of our poor fellows in hospital, haven't you?"

"Yes, some of them," said the boy feebly.