at a happy thought, drew the hardened cake from his
breast and placed it so that it could soak up the soft warm milk which
flowed into the vessel.

"Ah!" sighed the young soldier, "who'd have thought that taking the
king's shilling would bring a fellow to this? Now for poor Punch.
Well, we sha'n't starve to-night."

Once more as he turned from the goat the thought assailed him that one
of the vedettes might be in sight; but all was still and beautiful as he
stepped back slowly, eating with avidity portions of the gradually
softening black-bread, and feeling the while that life and hope and
strength were gradually coming back.

"Now for poor Punch!" he muttered again; and, entering the rough shelter
once more, he stood looking down upon the wounded boy, who was sleeping
heavily, so soundly that Pen felt that it would be a cruelty to rouse
him. So, partaking sparingly of his novel meal, he placed a part upon a
stool within reach of the rough pallet.

"Wounded men don't want food," he muttered. "It's Nature's way of
keeping off fever; and I must keep watch again, and give him a little
milk when he wakes. Yes, when he wakes--when he wakes," he muttered, as
he settled himself upon the earthen floor within touch of his sleeping
comrade. "Mustn't close the door," he continued, with a little laugh,
"for there doesn't seem to be one; and, besides, it would make the place
dark. Why, there's a star peeping out over the shoulder of the
mountain, and that soft, low, deep hum is the falling water. Why, that
must be the star I used to see at home in the old days; and, oh, how
beautiful and restful everything seems! But I mustn't go to sleep.--Are
you asleep, Punch?" he whispered softly. "Poor fellow! That's right.
Sleep and Nature will help you with your wound; but I must keep awake.
It would never do for you to rouse up and find me fast. No," he
half-sighed. "Poor lad, you mustn't go yet where so many other poor
fellows have gone. A boy like you! Well! It's the--fortune--fortune--
of war--and--and--"

Nature would take no denial. Pen Gray drew one long, deep, restful
breath as if wide-awake, and then slowly and as if grudgingly respired.

Fast asleep.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

MORE ABOUT HIM.

It was bright daylight, and Pen Gray started up in alarm, his mind in a
state of confusion consequent upon the heaviness of his sleep and the
feeling of trouble that something--he knew not what--had happened.

For a few