side, and both Harold's stockings had come down. Just as I was
beginning to have gloomy doubts of the proverbial courage of
Frenchmen, the officer called out something, the men closed up,
and, breaking into a trot, the troops--already far ahead--
vanished out of our sight. With a sinking at the heart, I began
to suspect we had been fooled.

"Are they charging?" cried Harold, weary, but rallying gamely.

"I think not," I replied doubtfully. "When there's going to be a
charge, the officer always makes a speech, and then they draw
their swords and the trumpets blow, and--but let's try a short
cut. We may catch them up yet."

So we struck across the fields and into another road, and pounded
down that, and then over more fields, panting, down-hearted,
yet hoping for the best. The sun went in, and a thin drizzle
began to fall; we were muddy, breathless, almost dead beat; but
we blundered on, till at last we struck a road more brutally,
more callously unfamiliar than any road I ever looked upon. Not
a hint nor a sign of friendly direction or assistance on the
dogged white face of it. There was no longer any disguising it--
we were hopelessly lost. The small rain continued steadily, the
evening began to come on. Really there are moments when a fellow
is justified in crying; and I would have cried too, if Harold had
not been there. That right-minded child regarded an elder
brother as a veritable god; and I could see that he felt himself
as secure as if a whole Brigade of Guards hedged him round with
protecting bayonets. But I dreaded sore lest he should begin
again with his questions.