mfortable position because Punch had gone
down below to clean his musket and wanted him to come down too and
submit his weapon to the same process. But it had happened that he
wanted to go to sleep horribly, and he had refused to go down; with the
consequence that as he lay just over the knot-hole Punch kept on poking
his ramrod through the opening to waken him up, and the hard rod was
being forced through the dry leaves of the Indian corn to reach his leg
exactly where the bullet had ploughed, while in the most aggravating way
Punch would keep on sawing the ramrod to and fro and giving him the most
acute pain.

Then the boy seemed to leave off in a tiff and tell him that he might
sleep for a month for aught he cared, and that he would not try to waken
him any more.

Then somehow, as the pain ceased, he did not go to sleep, but went right
off up the mountain-side in the darkness, guiding the King and his
followers into a place of safety; still it was not so safe but that he
could hear the French coming and firing at them now and then.

However, he went on and on, feeling puzzled all the time that he should
know the way through the mountains so well, and he took the King to rest
under the great chestnut-tree, and then on again to where the French
were firing, and one of them brought him down with the bullet that
ploughed his leg.

But that did not seem to matter, for, as if he knew every bit of the
country by heart, he led the King to the goat-herd's cottage, and
advised him to lie down and have a good rest on the rough bed, because
the peasant-girl would be there before long with a basket of food.

The King said that he did not care to sleep because he was so dreadfully
thirsty, and what he wanted was a bowl of goat's-milk. Then somehow he
went to where the goat was waiting to be milked, and for a long time the
milk would not come, but when it did and he was trying to fill the
little wooden _seau_ it was all full of beautiful cold water from the
foot of the falls where the trout were rushing about.

Then somehow Punch kept on sawing his ramrod to and fro along the wound
in his leg, and the more he tried to catch hold of the iron rod the more
Punch kept on snatching it away; and they were going through the
darkness again, with the King and his followers close behind, on the way
to safety; while Pen felt that he was quite happy now, because he had
saved the King, who was so pleased that he made him Sir Arthur Well