“I’ll try,” was the reply; “but can you really sit up like that?”
“Yes, of course. We shall be able to go on again soon.”
“Wha-at!” cried Punch. “Oh yes, I dare say! You can’t go on. But I know what I am going to do. If the French are gone I am going to hunt round till I find one of them cottages. There must be one somewhere about, because I just started some goats. And look there! Why, of course there must be some people living near here.” And the boy pointed to a dozen or so of pigs busily rooting about amongst the dead leaves of the forest, evidently searching for chestnuts and last year’s acorns shed by the evergreen oaks.
“Now, look here,” continued the boy. “Soon as I am sure that you can sit up and wait, I am just off to look out for some place where I can carry you.”
“I can sit up,” replied Pen. “I have got a nasty wound that will take some time to heal; but it’s nothing to mind, Punch, for it’s the sort of thing that will get well without a doctor. But you must find shelter or beg shelter for us till I can tramp again.”
“But I can carry yer, comrade.”
“A little way perhaps. There, don’t stop to talk. Go and do the best you can.”
“But is it safe to leave you?” protested Punch.
“Yes; there is nothing to mind, unless some of the French fellows find me.”
“That does it, then,” said Punch sturdily. “I sha’n’t go.”