’"That sent me into a passion, to think of them spying our flight!” Heigh, Tom! you’ve Bridgeman blood, boy!  And, “‘Face them!’ I shouted:  ’All right; Sure, Serjeant, we’ll take their shot dacent, like gentlemen,’ Grady replied.  A ball in his mouth, and the noble old Irishman dropped by my side.  Then there was just an instant to save myself, when a short wheeze Of bloody lungs under the smoke, and a red-coat crawled up on his knees.

     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.

     XXII

’"Then I strove wild for his body:  the beggars saw glittering rings, Which I vowed to send to his mother.  I got some hard knocks and sharp stings, But felt them no more than angel, or devil, except in the wind.  I know that I swore at a Russian for showing his teeth, and he grinned The harder:  quick, as from heaven, a man on a horse rode between, And fired, and swung his bright sabre:  I can’t write you more of the scene.

     XXIII

’"But half in his arms, and half at his stirrup, he bore me right forth, And pitched me among my old comrades:  before I could tell south from north, He caught my hand up, and kissed it!  Don’t ever let any man speak A word against Frenchmen, I near him!  I can’t find his name, tho’ I seek.  But French, and a General, surely he was, and, God bless him! thro’ him I’ve learnt to love a whole nation."’ The ancient man paused, winking dim.

     XXIV

A curious look, half woeful, was seen on his face as he turned His eyes upon each of his children, like one who but faintly discerned His old self in an old mirror.  Then gathering sense in his fist, He sounded it hard on his knee-cap.  ’Your hand, Tom, the French fellow kissed!  He kissed my boy’s old pounder!  I say he’s a gentleman!’ Straight The letter he tossed to one daughter; bade her the remainder relate.

     XXV

Tom properly stated his praises in facts, but the lady preferred To deck the narration with brackets, and drop her additional word.  What nobler Christian natures these women could boast, who, ’twas known, Once spat at the name of their nephew, and now made his praises their own!  The letter at last was finished, the hearers breathed freely, and sign Was given, ’Tom’s health!’—­Quoth the farmer:  ’Eh, Miss? are you weak in the spine?’

     XXVI