“How does he seem, sergeant?”
“Fast asleep, sir.”
“Hadn’t you better let one of the men take your place?”
“Oh no, sir; I’m all right, and so’s he.”
“Can either of you hear anything?”
“No, sir; only the ponies cropping the bush.” Then a faint, “We ought to be getting near home, sergeant.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Can we do anything more?”
“No, sir; only wish for a row of gas-lamps along a straight road, and it ain’t any good to wish for that.”
“I can see nothing, sergeant, and the sky seems blacker than the earth.”