I say, isn't it nice and shady! Talk about a
hiding-place! Look at the beautiful great, long green leaves. Hooray!
Chestnuts. We have dropped just into the right place for foraging.
Wait a bit and we will creep right into the forest and make a little
fire, and have a roast. What? Oh, it's all right. They have gone
straight on and can't hear me. Here! I say: why, comrade, you did hurt
yourself when you went down. Here, what is it? Oh, I am sorry! Ain't
broke anything, have you?"

"My leg, Punch--my leg," said Pen faintly.

"Broke your leg, comrade?" cried the boy.

"No, no," said Pen faintly; "not so bad as that. One of the bullets, I
think, scraped my leg when they fired."

"Shot!" cried Punch in an excited voice full of agony. "Oh, comrade,
not you! Don't say that!"

The lad talked fast, but he was acting all the time. Leaving his musket
amongst the leaves, he had crept to Pen's side, and was eagerly
examining his comrade's now helpless leg.

"Can't help it," he whispered, as he searched for and drew out his
knife. "I will rip it down the seam, and we will sew it up again some
time." And then muttering to himself, "Scraped! It's a bad wound! We
must get the bullet out. No--no bullet here." And then, making use of
the little knowledge he had picked up, Punch tore off strips of cotton
from his own and his companion's garments, and tightly bandaged the
bleeding wound.

"It's a bad job, comrade," he said cheerily; "but it might have been
worse if the Frenchies could shoot. There's no bones broke, and you are
not going to grumble; but I'd have given anything if it hadn't been your
turn now. Hurt much."

"Quite enough, Punch," said Pen with a rather piteous smile. "It's
quite right; my turn now; but don't stop. You've stopped the bleeding,
so get on."

"What say?"

"Go on now," said Pen, "while there's a chance to escape. Those fellows
will be sure to come back this way, and you will lose your opportunity
if you wait."

"Poor chap!" said Punch, as if speaking to himself, and he laid a hand
on Pen's wet forehead. "Look at that now! I have made a nasty mark;
but I couldn't help it, for there was no water here for a wash. But,
poor chap, he won't know. He's worse than I thought, though; talking
like that--quite off his head."

"I am not, Punch, but you will send me off it if you go on like that.
Do as I tell you, boy. Escape while there's a chance."

"He's quite queer," said Pun