“So can I, pretty tidy. I am tired, but not too tired to try. Let’s just rest a bit, and then swim across. It runs pretty fast, but ’tain’t far, and if it carried us some way down, all the better.”
“Very well, after a bit I don’t mind if we try,” said Pen; “but I must rest first.”
Then the boys were silent for a time, for Punch, whose eyes were wandering as he scanned the distance of the verdant undulating slope on the other side of the river, suddenly burst out with: “Yes, we had better get across, for our chaps are sure to be on the other side of the river.”
“Why?” said Pen drowsily.
“’Cause we are this. Soldiering always seems to be going by the rules of contrary; and—there!” cried the boy excitedly, “what did I tell you? There they are!”
“What, our men? Where?” cried Pen excitedly.
“Right over yonder, a mile away.”
“I can see nothing.”
“You don’t half look,” cried Punch angrily, bending forward, nursing his tender feet and staring wildly into the distance. “I ketched sight of a bit of scarlet ever so far off, and that must mean Bri’sh soldiers.”
“No; it might be something painted red—or a patch of poppies perhaps.”