For at that moment Roy sprang from the couch and looked excitedly round.
“What is it?” he cried. “What’s the matter? Morning! Surely I have not—”
“Yes, Roy, soundly and well, all night. Come, you must be ready for breakfast.”
“Yes, yes, mother,” cried the boy, impatiently.—“But tell me, Ben—Oh, you ought not to have let me sleep all night. Here, what has happened?”
“Nothing at all, sir, or I should have sent for you,” said the old soldier, who had taken out a handkerchief, given it a shake, and spread it upon the carpet, placed in it the roast chicken and loaf, sprinkled all liberally with salt, and now proceeded to tie the ends of the handkerchief across, to make a bundle. “They’re a-padrolling round and round, just as they have been all night, and keeping well out of gunshot. Wouldn’t like me to send a ball hopping along the ground to try the range, would you, sir?”
“No, not unless they attack,” said Roy, quickly.
“Thought you wouldn’t, sir, when I spoke.—Thank ye for this snack, my lady. I’ll go back now to the ramparts.—P’raps you’ll jyne me there, Master Roy, when you’ve had your breakfast. All’s well, sir; and them ten farmers are ready to stand on their heads with joy at getting through the enemy’s ranks.”
“Ah! how was it?”
“Only kept back by the sentries watching ’em; so they all went home as if they’d done work, and agreed to crawl to our place after dark, and creep to the gates.”
“But no one was hurt?”