ling that--whatever the secret
may be, and whether we surprise it or it surprises us--it will wait
until we are separated. Moreover, I have a theory to test. So far,
every man has disappeared outside the churchyard here and somewhere
on the side of the forest. The camp itself has been safe enough, and
so have the meadow and the path down to the creek. You will remember
that Billy was roaming the meadow for mushrooms at the very time we
lost Mr. Fett: yet Billy came to no harm. To be sure, the enemy,
having thinned us down to two, may venture more boldly; but if I keep
the camp here while you take the path down to the creek, and nothing
happens to either, we shall be narrowing the zone of danger, so to
speak."

My father nodded. "You will promise me not to set foot outside the
camp?"

"I will promise more," said I. "At the smallest warning I am going
to let off my piece. You must not be annoyed if I fetch you back on
a false alarm, or even an absurd one. I shall sit here with my
musket across my knees, and half a dozen others, all loaded, close
around me: and at the first sign of something wrong--at the crackling
of a twig, maybe--I shall fire. You, on your way to the creek, will
keep your eyes just as wide open and fire at the first hint of
danger."

"I don't like it," my father persisted.

"But you see the wisdom of it," said I. "We must stay here: that's
agreed. So long as we stay here we shall be desperately
uncomfortable, fearing we don't know what: that also is agreed.
Then, say I, for God's sake let us clear this business up and get it
over."

My father nodded, stood up and shouldered his piece. I knew that his
eyes were on me, and avoided meeting them, afraid for a moment that
he was going to say something in praise of my courage, whereas in
truth I was horribly scared. That last word or two had really
expressed my terror. I desired nothing but to get the whole thing
over. My hand shook so as I turned to load the first musket that I
had twice to shorten my grasp of the ramrod before I could insert it
in the barrel.

From the gateway leading to the lane my father watched till the
loading was done.

"Good-bye and good luck, lad!" said he, and turned to go. A pace or
two beyond the gateway he halted as if to add a word, but thought
better of it and resumed his stride. His footsteps sounded hollow
between the walls of the narrow lane. Then he reached the turf of
the meadow, and the soun