Xxi

‘“’Twas Ensign Baynes of our parish.”—Ah, ah, Miss Charlworth, the one Our Tom fought for a young lady? Come, now we’ve got into the fun!— “I shouldered him: he primed his pistol, and I trailed my musket, prepared.” Why, that’s a fine pick-a-back for ye, to make twenty Russians look scared! “They came—never mind how many: we couldn’t have run very well, We fought back to back: ‘face to face, our last time!’ he said, smiling, and fell.