“Yes; I have been watching what has gone on. We are almost alone here, with only wounded and surgeons. The rest have gone; and—and behind this village there is a forest of those scrubby-barked oak-trees.”
“Cork-trees,” said Pen.
“Oh, that’s it!” And the boy drew himself up. “But do you think you are strong enough yet?”
“Strong enough? Of course.” And Pen rose, to stand at his companion’s side. “Do you know the way?”
“Yes,” And Punch felt for and took his companion’s hand, trying to see his face in the pitchy darkness. “It is to the right of the camp.”
“Then let’s go.”
“Wait,” said Punch, and he glided off into the blackness, leaving Pen standing there alone.
But it was not for long. In a minute or two the boy was back once more, and this time he held something in his arms.
“Ready?” he asked in a whisper.
“Yes. What for?”