“Oh what was that?”
“Why the enemy were close upon them, and B—— (that was the officer) was bent upon rescuing the sergeant of his troops who was wounded and helpless, and whose own horse had been killed. So he told him to get up behind on his horse—and the sergeant refused, and told B—— to save himself and leave him to perish, and B—— answered in peremptory fashion, ‘If you don’t obey orders at once, I shall punch your head!’”
“Don’t punch mine to-day,” says Bertie with a rather feeble laugh. “It feels so queer and top-heavy. I’ll give you leave to try as soon as I’m all right again.”
“All right. But now about this getting home? Here! you take the bag, and I’ll carry you. Will you ride in ordinary pick-a-back fashion, or as I’ve seen soldiers do at what they call ‘chummy races’ lengthwise across their bearer’s shoulders?”
Bertie prefers the former method, and with some little difficulty is hoisted into the required position.
“How are they all at home?” asks Captain Gordon, after they have advanced some little way in silence.
“Very well—and very jolly—only to-day Cousin Milly was out of spirits, because”—
“Well what?” The tone is sharp and impatient.
“Because you hadn’t written, and she did so want a letter for Christmas. And I thought there might be one by the afternoon post—they do come then sometimes.”
“And that was the reason for your taking that crazy ride through the snow? My dear little fellow,” and the brisk voice is very kind and gentle now, “I am sorry to have been the cause of all this trouble.”