“I was afraid he’d hear you, uncle.”
“What!” cried the other, and his mouth opened wide. “Bony! Here?”
“No, uncle, of course not, but one of the young prisoners. He was escaping.”
“And you—you have turned traitor to your King, and been hiding a prisoner of war from his guard! Why, you young scoundrel! You lied to that sergeant, and said you hadn’t seen them.”
“I didn’t, uncle!” cried the boy hotly. “It was you.”
“Eh? What?” roared the elder. “You dare to! Eh?—Ah—so I did! But then I didn’t know.”
“No, uncle, and if you had seen and heard the poor lad as I did, I am sure you wouldn’t have betrayed him.”
“Betray! It isn’t betraying, sir, to give up a prisoner of war.”
“I felt as if it would be, uncle, under such circumstances,” said Rodd, who began noting that his uncle had lowered his voice, and that his angriest words had been uttered in a whisper.
“Look here, my boy,” he said now quite softly, “I knew that there was something up, or you would have been wolfing more than your share of those sandwiches. I saw you keep squinting at that hole over yonder. So you have hid him away there?”