“Well, lads, how are you getting on?”
“Not very well, father,” replied Poole. “Is it all right?”
“Yes, my boy; I have heard nothing but the cries of the night birds, and the creeping of something now and then among the boughs.”
“Think the enemy will come to-night, Mr Reed?” said Fitz.
“Can’t say, my lad. They may, or they may not. If they knew how easily they could get the better of us they would make a rush. Tut, tut, tut! Kick that fellow, Poole. Can’t he sleep without snoring like that? Who is it?”
“I think it’s Winks, father.”
“Rouse him up, then.”
“Eh? Hullo! All right! My watch?”
“No, no,” said Poole. “Be quiet; you are snoring away as if you were sawing wood.”
“Was I, my lad?” whispered the man. “Well, I believe I dreamed I was at that game. Any fighting coming off?”