Chapter Twenty Five.
Towards Home.
Weeks followed of desultory warfare. One day messengers came bringing news to the little inn—which had gradually become head-quarters from the coming there of General Hedley, and the centre to which reinforcements were continually gathering—that the king’s men were once more in force, and preparations were made for a hasty move.
“Far sooner than I could wish, my boy,” said the colonel, as he sat beside his son after a busy day.
“But I feel quite strong again, father,” pleaded Fred. “You are too anxious about me.”
“Too anxious, my boy? No, I think not. Well, you will have to try and sit your horse again, even if you are a non-combatant.”
“Which way shall we retreat?” asked Fred.
“Retreat? Who said anything about retreat?” cried a stern voice, and General Hedley entered the room. “Oh, you, eh, boy?” he continued, shaking one of his buff gauntlets at the convalescent. “Don’t you let Captain Miles hear you say that again. We may move to a different position, but we will not talk of retreat yet.”
Fred felt the colour burning once more in his pale cheeks, and the general went on—