Stewart sat down upon the ground, wiped the mud from his feet, shook the gravel from his shoes, drew on his socks and laced his shoes properly. As he started to get up, he felt a sudden sharp twinge in his shoulder.
“What is it?” asked the girl, quickly, for an exclamation of pain had burst from him before he could choke it back.
“Nothing at all!” he said, and rose, gingerly. “I touched a raw place, where a briar scratched me. I seem to be composed largely of raw places—especially as to my feet. How are yours?”
“One of them hurts a little—not enough to mention.”
“You’re sure you can walk?”
“Certainly—or run, if need be.”
“Then we had better push on a little farther. The Germans are still too close for comfort. Keep your back to the moon—I’ll act as rear-guard.”
For a moment she looked up questioningly into his face.
“You are sure you are not hurt?” she asked.
“Perfectly sure.”