“I hope not; but they would treat us as enemies, and it would go bad with us, I feel sure.”
“Well, we are rested now,” said Punch. “Let’s get on again a bit.”
“Which way shall we go?” said Pen.
“I dunno; anywhere so’s not to run against the French. I have had enough of them. Let’s chance it.”
Pen laughed merrily, his comrade’s easy-going, reckless way having its humorous side, and cheering him up at a time when their helpless condition made him ready to despair.
“Well,” he said, “if we are to chance it, Punch, let’s get out of this wood and try to go downhill.”
“What for?”
“Easier travelling,” said Pen. “We may reach another pleasant valley, and find a village where the people will let us beg some bread and fruit.”
“Yes, of course,” said Punch, frowning; “but it don’t seem nice—begging.”
“Well, we have no money to buy. What are we to do?”