"You remember me, sir?—Joe Crouch."
"What! Joe Crouch, who used to work at Brenlands?"
"Yes, sir; Joe Crouch as stole the pears," answered the soldier, smiling. "I never expected to find you 'listin' in the army, sir. I suppose Miss Fenleigh ain't aware of what you're doin'?"
"Oh, no!" exclaimed the other eagerly. "Promise me you'll never tell any one at Brenlands where I am—swear you won't."
"Very well, sir," replied Joe Crouch, calmly proceeding to unroll the mattress and make down the bed.
"For goodness' sake, drop that sir. Look here, Joe: I'm a lame dog, down on my luck, and no good to anybody; but we were friendly years ago, and if you'll have me for a comrade now, I'll do my best to be a good one."
Joe flung down the bedding, and held out his big, brown hand.
"That I will!" he answered. "You did the square thing by me once, and now I'll see you through; don't you fret."
Tea in barracks was evidently a very informal meal, of which no great account was taken. As Jack sat down to his bowl and chunk of bread, Joe Crouch pushed a screw of paper in front of him, which on examination proved to contain a small pat of butter.
"What's this?" asked Jack.