"Only my word of honor. I had a pass from Hamilton, but destroyed that
before entering the British lines. If I tell you the whole story, perhaps
you will understand its truth."

The expression of his face did not change, yet I thought the deep-set
eyes were not altogether unkind.

"You are hungry, no doubt?"

"Being human, yes."

"Then we'll eat and talk at the same time. You're only one man, an' I'm
not afraid of you, an' if ye are a Britisher I wouldn't starve you to
death. There's little enough, the good Lord knows, but you're welcome to
the half of it. Make yourself comfortable there on the bench."

I did as he suggested, impressed by the rugged directness of the fellow,
convinced he already half believed my brief explanation. He stepped
outside into the sunlight searching the road that led away across the
flat distance; returning he indulged in a single glance into the deserted
shop where I had passed the night. Apparently satisfied that I was indeed
alone, he threw open a cupboard in one corner, and brought forth a
variety of food, placing this upon a wide shelf near at hand.
Occasionally our eyes met, and I knew he was slowly making up his mind
regarding me. This silent scrutiny could not have been altogether
unsatisfactory, for, when he finally drew up an empty box and sat down,
he was prepared to talk.

"Help yourself," he began gravely. "It is rough camp fare, but doubtless
you are used to that. Do you know me?"