"Right, boy; and didn't I tell you that a soldier must always do his duty?" "Yes, father." "And that boys must always do theirs? Well, sir, the King says I must march with the army at once, and I say you must do your duty too." "Yes, father," said Phil, in a choking voice, "and I will." "Spoken like a man." At that moment the door was re-opened hurriedly. "Ah, Martin," cried the Captain, sharply, "you have bad news?" "Yes--that lad Pierre has gone across the fields towards the town." "Where the French soldiers are stationed?" "Yes." "Then I have no time to lose. The bread--the meat!" "I--I--" faltered the old man. "Thought only of my safety," said the Captain. "Here, stop! Phil! Where are you going?" But the boy dashed through the open door, which swung to behind him. "Call him back," cried the Captain, excitedly. "I must say good-bye, for we may never meet again. Stop; I am weak enough without that. I ought not to have come. Martin, old friend, remember. I trust you, and if fate makes him an orphan--" "You have known me all these years, Carleton, and I have grown to love him as if he was my own. Trust me still, and--" There was a quick footstep, the door was kicked open, and Phil rushed in, panting and flushed, with a large loaf under one arm and a basket in his hand, out of which the crisp brown legs of a roast chicken were sticking. "Here, father!" he cried. "Bravo! Good forager," cried the Captain, snatching the provisions from the boy to throw on the table before clasping Phil to his breast in one quick, tight embrace. The next minute he had thrust the little fellow into the Doctor's arms. "Remember!" he cried aloud, and catching up basket and loaf, he bounded out of the open window and ran across the garden to the yard, where he had left his horse tethered to a post. It seemed directly after that Phil was standing on the window-sill waving his hand and shouting, "Good-bye--good-bye, father!" But his words were not heard by the Captain, who was urging his tired horse into a gallop. It was none too soon, for a body of soldiers were coming at the double from the direction of the town, and with a cry of rage the boy whispered through his teeth: "Look, there's Pierre running to show them the way!" "Hush! Quick, Phil; we must go." "After father?" cried the boy, joyously. "No; we must make for the woods." The old man hurried out by the back door, and then keeping under the shelter of fence and hedge, they made for a patch of woodland, which hid them from the Captain's pursuers. "Let's wait here for a few moments to get breath," panted the old man. As he spoke there was the report of a musket, followed by a scattered series of shots. "What's that?" whispered Phil, excitedly. "I know; but they can't hit father, he's riding away too fast. Do you think they'll shoot after us? I wish I had a gun." "Why?" said the Doctor, smiling. "Because I feel as if I should like to shoot at Pierre." CHAPTER TWO.