He advanced upon them with so fierce a gesture that the Doctor caught
Phil's arm, thrust him behind so as to screen him from danger, and then
backed away.

"My poor boy," he groaned, pressing Phil closer to him. "It is like
being in an enemy's land--and one of my own countrymen too."

"He must be a friend of Pierre," said Phil. "Oh, Dr Martin, this is
not like a holiday. What shall we do?"

"Pray, boy, that all Frenchmen are not so stony-hearted. There, there,
be brave; we shall find others yet who will not treat you so, and--"

"Hist!--Stop!" came from a clump of trees on their right.

"Who spoke?" said Phil, with a wondering look.

"I. Come here, out of sight of the house," and the next minute the
wanderers were gazing excitedly at a ruddy-cheeked girl, who stood
before them with a big jug in one hand, a basket in the other.

"Who are you?" said the Doctor, eagerly.

"His girl," was the hurried reply. "Father is so angry with the
English. He wants to go and fight them. Here, boy, bread and milk.
Take them, and go right away. Father must not know. He would beat me."

"Bless you for your goodness," cried the Doctor, with the tears rising
to his eyes.

"It was not for you," said the girl, angrily. "I hate you for bringing
the English here. It was for him. I could not bear to see him hungry
and in want. I could not have eaten my own breakfast if I had. Will
you kiss me, dear?" she said, softly, as she bent down, and thrust the
basket and pitcher in Phil's hands. "I had a little brother once so
like you. He is dead though, and--"

She uttered a sob, and the tears that ran down her cheeks remained on
Phil's face as he raised his lips to hers. The next minute she was
running in and out amongst the trees back towards the farm, leaving
Phil's eyes wet as well, as he stood looking after her till she was out
of sight.

"Come, boy," said the Doctor, huskily, "drink--drink heartily. Let me
open the basket. What is in it! Hot bread-cakes. She must have been
up early to have made these. Come, Phil, boy; be brave. We must meet
with sharp stones in every path; but there are flowers too. Drink and
eat. It is going to be a grand holiday after all."

CHAPTER FOUR.

There were more sharp stones in their way that day than flowers. The
Doctor and his charge tramped steadily on that morning, till in the
distance they suddenly saw stretched out before them a long line of
something which kept on