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young soldier, smiling encouragingly at the speaker; and then by the help of a shirt-sleeve and a bandage which he drew from his knapsack, the young soldier managed pretty deftly to bind up his comrade's wound, and then place him in a more comfortable position, lying upon his side.
"Thank ye!" said the boy with a sigh. "But, I say, you have give it me hot."
"I am very sorry, boy."
"Oh, never mind that. But just wipe my face; it's all as wet as wet, and the drops keep running together and tickling."
This little service was performed, and then the boy turned his head uneasily aside.
"What is it, Punch?"
"That there bullet--where is it?"
"I have got it safe."
"That's right. Now, where's my bugle?"
"There it is, quite safe too."
"Yes, that's right," said the boy faintly. "I don't want to lose that; but--Oh, I say, look at that there dent! What'll the colonel say when he sees that?"
"Shall I tell you, Punch?" said the young man, who bent over him, watching every change in his face.
"Yes--no. I know: `Careless young whelp,' or something; and the sergeant--"
"Never mind the sergeant," said the young sharpshooter. "I want to tell you what the colonel will say, like the gentleman he is."
"Then, what'll he say?" said the wounded lad drowsily.
"That he has a very brave boy in his regiment, and--Poor chap, he has fainted again! My word, what a position to be in! Our fellows will never be able to get back, and if I shout for help it means hospital for him, prison for me. What shall I do?"
There was nothing to be done, as Pen Gray soon realised as he lay upon his side in the shade of the steep valley, watching his wounded comrade, who gradually sank into the sleep of exhaustion, while the private listened for every sound that might suggest the coming on or retreating of the French troops. His hopes rose once, for it seemed to him that the tide of war was ebbing and flowing lower down the valley, and his spirits rose as the mountain-breeze brought the sounds of firing apparently nearer and nearer, till he felt that the English troops had not only rallied, but were driving back the French over the ground by which they had come. But as the day wore on he found that his hopes were false; and, to make their position worse, fresh troops had come down the valley and were halted about a quarter of a mile from where he and his sleeping companion lay; while, lower down, the firing, which had grown fiercer and fiercer, gradually died out.
He was intently straining his ears, when to his surprise the afternoon sun began to flash upon the weapons of armed men, and once more his hopes revived in the belief that the French were being driven back; but to his astonishment and dismay, as they came more and more into sight, a halt seemed to have been called, and they too settled down into a bivouac, and communications by means of mounted men took place between them and the halted party higher up the valley; the young rifleman, by using great care, watching the going to and fro unseen.
Evening was coming on, and Pen Gray was still watching and wondering whether it would be possible to take advantage of the darkness, when it fell, to try and pass down the valley, circumvent the enemy, and overtake their friends, when the wounded boy's eyes unclosed, and he lay gazing wonderingly in his comrade's eyes.
"Better, Punch?" said Pen softly.
"What's the matter?" was the reply; and the boy gazed in his face in a dazed, half-stupid way.
"Don't you remember, lad?"
"No," was the reply. "Where's the ridgment?"
"Over yonder. Somewhere about the mouth of the valley, I expect."
"Oh, all right. What time is it?"
"I should think about five. Why?"
"Why?" said the boy. "Because there will be a row. Why are we here?"
"Waiting till you are better before trying to join our company."
"Better? Have we been resting, then, because my feet were so bad with the marching?"
Pen was silent as he half-knelt there, listening wonderingly to his comrade's half-delirious queries, and asking himself whether he had better tell the boy their real position.
"So much marching," continued the boy, "and those blisters. Ah, I remember! I say, private, didn't I get a bullet into me, and fall right down here? Yes, that's it. Here, Private Gray, what are you going to do?"
"Ah, what are we going to do?" said the young man sadly. "I was in hopes that you would be so much better, or rather I hoped you might, that we could creep along after dark and get back to our men; but I am afraid--"
"So'm I," said the boy bitterly, as he tried to move himself a little, and then