“Like a man, Samson—like an officer should?”
“Why, of course you did, sir!”
“As my father would have liked to see me fight, if he had been there?”
“Well, sir, that question’s a puzzler. You see, fathers is fathers, and, as far as ever I’ve been able to find out, they don’t like their boys to fight. Why, my father was always giving me and Nat the strap for fighting, because we was always at it—strap as he wore round his waist, when he wasn’t banging our heads together. You see, Nat was always at me, and knocking me about. We never did agree; but our old man wouldn’t let us fight, and I don’t believe your father would have liked to see you trying to cut people’s heads off with that sword of yours.”
“Well, then,” said Fred, smiling faintly, “would my colonel have been satisfied with what I did to save the prisoners and my men?”
“Wouldn’t be much of a colonel if he wasn’t. There, dear lad, don’t you fret yourself about that. I’ve heered the men here say you did wonders for such a boy, and a big sergeant who fetched you off your horse was up here yesterday—”
“Yesterday?” interrupted Fred. “Why, we were travelling yesterday!”
“That we were not, my lad, for we’ve been lying here two days.”
“Oh!” ejaculated Fred.
“While you’ve been off your head.”