“That’s what I keep thinking, comrade; but then I keep thinking, too, that he’s going to get something given him for taking two prisoners to give up to the French.”
“Nonsense! It is cowardly and ungenerous to think so.”
“Then what’s he been gone such a long time for? It’s hours since he went away and shut us in.”
“Hours?”
“Yes; you don’t know, because you sleep so much.”
“Well, I don’t believe he’d betray us. The old man’s too good and generous for that.”
“Then, why has he made prisoners of us?” said Punch sourly. “Why has he shut us up?”
“To keep anybody else from coming in,” said Pen decisively. “What time can it be now?”
“Getting on towards sunset. Pst! Here he comes—or somebody else.”
All doubts as to who it was were put an end to the next minute, for the familiar step of the old priest approached the door. They plainly heard what seemed to be another bar removed, and the old man stood before them with a big basket on his arm, and remained looking back as if to see whether he had been followed.