“I thought I heard something, sir,” said the man. “Then it was you?”
“No, no,” said Dickenson; “I heard it too—a low chirp like a bird.”
“No, no, sir; not that—a sound as if some one slipped.”
“Yes, that was I,” said Dickenson; “but there was a chirp. Did you hear that?”
“Oh yes, I heard that, sir; and another one answered it.”
“And then there was talking.”
“Oh no, sir, I heard no talking. Sound like a bird; but I think it’s a little guinea-piggy sort of thing. I believe they live in holes like rats, and come out and call to one another in the dark.”
“Well, perhaps it may be; but keep a sharp lookout.”
“I’ll keep my ears well open, sir,” said the man; “there’s no seeing anything in a night like this.”
The sentry was able to put his visitor in the right direction, and Dickenson went on, forgetting the incident and wondering how Lennox was getting on; then about what the colonel would say to his ill-success; and lastly, the needs of his being filled up all his thoughts, making him wonder what he should get from the mess in order to satisfy the ravenous hunger that troubled him after his long abstinence.