“Where?”
“Back to your regiment.”
For a few moments she was busy gathering up her spools and linen.
“You carry my saddlebags,” she said, “and I’ll take the kitten. Isn’t it cunning, Roy? Do look at the poor little thing! We can’t leave it here.”
Following, laden with her saddlebags, he stammered:
“Do—d-do you think they’ll shoot me?”
“No,” she said, smiling. “Be careful of the ferry steps; they are dreadfully shaky.”
She began the descent, clasping the kitten in both arms; the boy followed. Seated in the punt, they stowed away the saddlebags and the kitten, then he picked up the pole, looked at her, hesitated. She waited.
“I guess the old man will have me shot.... But—I am going back,” he said, as though to himself.