Archy was silent with disappointment and consternation after this. At last he said, determinedly:
"At all events, I shall do my best to get Don Martin de What's-his-name to let me out."
"Come," said Captain Curtis, feeling sorry for him, "let us go up to my hut and see my wife and little girl. You are a prime favorite with them both already."
As they neared the hut they heard the sound of singing—a man's barytone, full and rich, and a child's treble, shrill but sweet.
"That is my little girl," said Captain Curtis, with a smile, "and my man Judkins. He carried Dolly in his arms when she was a baby, and, I believe, loves her better than anything on earth. Her first playthings were his cap and belts, and he is still her favorite playfellow. He has a fine voice, as you can tell, and has taught Dolly every song in the British army, but none of the navy songs; for Judkins was in the army before he was a marine."
"I understand," replied Archy, laughing. "There is no love lost between sailors and marines."
Presently they could distinguish the two companions—the old marine and the little girl—sitting together on a rock, Dolly wrapped up in a huge cloak of Judkins's, and both of them singing, at the top of their voices, the fine old song "The British Grenadiers."
"Whene'er we are commanded to storm the palisades,
Our leaders march with fuses and we with hand-grenades;
We throw them from the glacis about the enemy's ears.