king to himself, but not loudly enough to startle a bird
which came flitting from tree to tree in advance of the approaching
soldiers, and checked its flight in one of the low branches of a great
overhanging chestnut, and then kept on changing its position as it
peered down at the two recumbent figures, its movements startling the
bugler, who now began in a whisper to address the bird.

"Here," he said, "what game do you call that? You don't mean to say you
have come here like this to show the Johnny Crapauds where we are, so
that they may take us prisoners? No, I thought not. It wouldn't be
fair, and I don't suppose they have even seen you; but it did look like
it. Here they come, though, and in another minute they will see us,
and--Oh, poor Gray! It will be bad for him, poor chap; and--No, they
don't. They are wheeling off to the left; but if they look this way
they must see us, and if they had been English lads that's just what
they would have done. Why, they couldn't help seeing us--a set of
bat-eyed bull-frogs; that's what I call them. Yah! Go on home! I
don't think much of you. Now then, they are not coming here, and I
don't care where they go as long as they don't find us. Now, what's
next to be done? What I want is another goat-herd's hut, so as I can
carry my poor old comrade into shelter. Now, where is it to be found?
I don't know, but it's got to be done; and ain't it rum that my poor old
mate here should have his dose, and me have to play the nurse twice
over!"

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

"UNLUCKY BEGGARS."

"If one wasn't in such trouble," said Punch to himself, as he lay in the
growing darkness beneath the great chestnut-tree, "one would have time
to think what a beautiful country this is. But of all the unlucky
beggars that ever lived, Private Pen Gray and Bugler Bob Punchard is
about the two worst. Only think of it: we had just got out of all that
trouble with my wound and Gray's fever, then he gets hit and I got to
nurse him all over again. Well, that's all clear enough.--How are you
now, comrade?" he said aloud, as after cautiously gazing round in search
of danger, he raised his head and bent over his wounded companion.

There was no reply, and Punch went on softly, "It's my turn now to say
what you said to me. Sleepy, are you? Well, go on, and have plenty of
it. It's the best thing for you. What did you say? Nature sets to
work to mend you again? No, he didn't. I forget now,