Brave and True | Page 2

ready to blaze at them, and they were popping at you from their
entrenchments; and that you jolly well meant to give them the worst of
it."
"Well, about Bullfrog?"
"Oh, that was nothing," said Martin, reddening. "He must have got
excited or something, for he took a step forward, putting himself in full
view, and just then I saw what he didn't see--that there were some of
those Boer beggars just under our kopje, and that one of them had
raised his rifle to pick off Bullfrog. So I made a flying leap on to his
back and knocked him flat, and the bullet that was meant for him just
crossed the back of my coat and ripped it up. Didn't even scratch me!"
The little knot of listeners around Martin waited with bated breath for
more.
"But he didn't escape scot-free after all," continued Martin. "Ten
minutes after that he got shot in the leg. The bone was fractured, and
he couldn't move. I saw him fall and I pulled him to a little hollow
under a stone where he'd be safe. And it was just as well, for the
cavalry came up over there when the chase began. We gave them the
licking they deserved that day. But you know all about that."
"Wish I'd been you!" said Martin's old schoolfellow very enviously.
"But what about Bullfrog after that?"
"He was taken in the ambulance-cart and put in hospital. I saw him
there and he was getting on all right."
"And what did he say?"

"He said I'd caught him out again and a lot more. But it was all
nonsense, you know."
"I expect he was sorry he'd ever made it hot for you," said one of the
listeners.
"You ought to have a VC or something for it, I consider," said another.
"Rot!" answered Martin. "If a schoolfellow and a shipmate of yours
wanted a push out of danger, wouldn't you give it him? And you
wouldn't think yourself a hero either!"
"Other people might, though," answered Martin's old schoolfellow.
CHAPTER TWO.
TWO ROUGH STONES, BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN.
It does not take long to make a kite, if you know how, have the right
things for the purpose, and Cook is in a good temper. But then, cooks
are not always amiable, and that's a puzzle; for disagreeable people are
generally yellow and stringy, while pleasant folk are pink-and-white
and plump, and Mrs Lester's Cook at "Lombardy" was extremely
plump, so much so that Ned Lester used to laugh at her and say she was
fat, whereupon Cook retorted by saying good-humouredly: "All right,
Master Ned, so I am; but you can't have too much of a good thing."
There was doubt about the matter, though. Cook had a most fiery
temper when she was busy, and when that morning Ned went with
Tizzy--so called because she was christened Lizzie--and found Cook in
her private premises--the back kitchen--peeling onions, with a piece of
bread stuck at the end of the knife to keep the onion-juice from making
her cry, and asked her to make him a small basin of paste, her kitchen
majesty uttered a loud snort.
"Which I just shan't," she cried; "and if your Mar was at home you
wouldn't dare to ask. I never did see such a tiresome, worriting boy as
you are, Master Ned. You're always wanting something when I'm busy;

and what your master's a-thinking about to give you such long holidays
at midsummer I don't know."
"They aren't long," said Ned, indignant at the idea of holidays being too
long for a boy of eleven.
"Don't you contradict, sir, or I'll just tell your Mar; and the sooner
you're out of my kitchen the better for you. Be off, both of you!"
It was on Tizzy's little red lips to say: "Oh, please do make some
paste!" but she was not peeling onions, and had no knife with a piece of
bread-crumb at the end to keep the tears from coming. So come they
did, and sobs with them to stop the words.
"Never mind, Tiz," cried Ned, lifting her on to a chair. "Here, get on
my back and I'll carry you. Cook's in a tantrum this morning."
Tizzy placed her arms round her brother's neck and clung tightly while
he played the restive steed, and raised Cook's ire to red-hot point by
purposely kicking one of the Windsor chairs, making it scroop on the
beautifully-white floor of the front kitchen, and making the queen of
the domain rush out at him, looking red-eyed and ferocious, for the
onion-juice had affected her.
"Now, just you look here, Master Ned."
But Ned didn't stop to look; for, after the restive kick at the chair, he
had broken into a