“All right;” and the boy rose immediately, staring hard at his companion, as Pen, with a quiver of emotion in his utterance, laid his hand over the remains of the black-bread, and said, gazing hard at the old priest the while, “Benedictus, benedicat. Amen.”
“Ah!” said the priest, with a long-drawn breath of satisfaction; “Benedictus, benedicat Amen.”
Then, taking a step towards them, he laid his hand upon the heads of his two guests in turn and said a few words in an undertone. Next, pointing to the rough pallet-bed, he signed to Punch that he should lie down beside his companion.
“What, take a snooze there, sir?” said Punch. “Thank you, sir. But not yet.—You tell him in your Latin stuff, comrade, that I want to do a bit of doctoring first.”
“I’ll try,” said Pen wearily, already half-asleep; when, to the surprise of both, the old man went outside and returned with a little wooden tub of water which he brought to the bedside, and then, in spite of a half-hearted protestation on the part of Punch, he proceeded to carefully attend to the wound.
“Well, it’s very good of you, sir,” said the boy at last, after doing his best to help, “and I wish I could make you understand what I say. But you have done it a deal better than I could have done, and I am sure if my comrade could have kept himself awake he would be ready enough to say something in Latin that would mean you are a trump, and he’s very much obliged. But, you see, all I know, sir, about Latin—”
“Latin!” said the old priest, beaming upon him with wondering eyes.
“Yes, sir—Latin, sir, as I learnt of him;” and then, pointing to the carefully bandaged limb, “bonum, sir; bonum!”
The priest nodded, as he pointed to the pallet, where there was room for Punch to lie down by his sleeping companion; but the boy shook his head.
“No, sir,” he said, “that’s your roost; I do know that,” And, before his host could interfere, the boy placed one musket within reach of Pen’s hand, the other beside the door, across which he stretched himself.