The great earth, warm and dark about him, gave him strength. She was a friendly great beast, breathing and blowing all round him. He could hear her, and feel her. On Beachy Head he had been a fly crawling on her hide; now he was the same fly swallowed. He was creeping along her gullet towards her mouth. Motherly old thing, she covered him well, and he was grateful to her. That good thick flesh of hers stood between him and that which he did not care to contemplate. As he crawled he kicked her in the ribs to show he recognized that she meant well. The light was growing on him now. The wind blew on his damp forehead. He could see the round of sky, blue against the black arch of brick. Warily he peeped through the screen of tamarisk that veiled the opening. The creek lay a few feet below. Across it, the smooth side of the Wish flowed upward. A sentinel crowned the little hill, but his face was seaward. Otherwise the coast was clear. No! On the slope of the Wish, facing him, a man was lying. II The man was lying on his back half-way up the slope, reading a little brown book. Kit could not see his face; but he had no need. Well he knew those buck-skin breeches, those mud-spattered tops, those tall knees. "Who's that bloke?" whispered a voice at his ear. "The officer commanding the French. Hush!" "Crikey!" whispered Knapp, much impressed, and peering through the tamarisk. "Ain't he got a pair o legs on him neether?" Before Kit could stop him, he had brushed past and dropped into the creek, light as a feather. For a moment he squatted there, monkey-fashion, blinking after the darkness. The sun shone on his naked back, ridged and rippling. A little man, he was solid as a boulder: thighs tremendous, shin-bones great and bowed. Such fists too! such feet! Kit leaned out. For better or worse, the thing was done now. No good calling him back, no good cursing him. Better make the best of it. "You've got a clear run," whispered the boy. "Hug the far bank, so the sentry on the Wish can't see you; stick to the creek as far as you can; and when you leave the shore, take a wide sweep towards the Downs, to avoid their sentries; and then _run_, man!--_run_ as you never ran before!" "I'll run, man, run fast enough soon as you done talkin," replied the Cockney cheekily, hopping across the creek to the shelter of the far bank. "Be in Lewes afore you're back to the guv'nor, I'll lay. Ta-ta." He was away down the creek, running like a monkey, finger-tips touching the ground. Kit, thankful to tears, watched the sun on the man's ridged back, as he stole away. Surely, he was through now. A sound made him look up. III The Gentleman had not stirred. He was reading aloud, and loving what he read. "Little lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee?" Heaven send Knapp had not heard; but he had.