“All right; but it’s nearly all used up. I say, look here, do you think the army will be this side of the river?”
“Can’t say, Punch.—I hope so.”
“But suppose it’s the other side. How are you going to get across? Are we likely to come to a town and a bridge?”
“No; we are too far away up in the mountains. But I dare say we shall be able to find a ford where we can cross.”
“Oh!” said Punch thoughtfully; and they journeyed on, beginning to suffer now from hunger in addition to weariness and pain; and just about midday, when the heat of the sun was beating down strongly in the river valley, Punch limped off painfully to where an oak-tree spread its shady boughs, and threw himself prone.
“It’s all up, comrade,” he said. “Can’t go no farther.”
“No, no; don’t give way,” said Pen, who felt painfully disposed to follow his companion’s example. “Get well into the shade and have a few hours’ sleep. It will be cooler by-and-by, and we shall get on better after a rest. There, try and go to sleep.”
“Who’s to sleep with a pair of red-hot feet and an empty cupboard? I can’t,” said Punch. And he took hold of his ankles, drew them up, and sat Chinese-tumbler fashion, rocking himself to and fro; while with a weary sigh Pen sank down beside him and sat gazing into the sunny distance.
“Couldn’t we get over to the other side?” said Punch at last. “It’s all rocks and stones and rough going this side, and all green and meadowlike over the other. Can you swim?”
“Yes, pretty well,” said Pen; “but I should be too tired to try.”