“Yes, I remember now.”
“And I suppose you were wounded when they were rescued by a party of the king’s horse?”
“Yes,” sighed Fred. “I thought I remembered you. The little inn near the moor.”
“Yes, sir. Father’s inn.”
“And you are Royalists, I suppose?”
“I don’t know what we are, sir. We only wish the war was over, and we want to do all we can for the poor wounded folk.”
“For rebels, too?” said Fred, bitterly.
“For any one who is in trouble, sir; and if you don’t want me to bathe your head again, I’ll go and attend to your servant. Father says there’s nothing like clean cold water for a cut.”
“Yes, go and help the two poor fellows; but, one moment—there was quite a regiment there, was there not?”
“Yes, sir; the greater part of one. Came from the town.”