Declining to be drawn into
impromptu irrelevancies, Mucklewame stuck to his text.
"Advance yin," he continued, "and give the coontersign, if any!"
Private Dunshie drew nearer.
"Jock," he inquired wistfully, "hae ye gotten a fag?"
"Aye," replied Mucklewame, friendship getting the better of
conscience.
"Wull ye give a body yin?"
"Aye. But ye canna smoke on ootpost duty," explained Mucklewame
sternly. "Forbye, the officer has no been roond yet," he added.
"Onyway," urged Dunshie eagerly, "let nae be your prisoner! Let me
bide with the other boys in here ahint the dyke!"
The hospitable Mucklewame agreed, and Scout Dunshie, overjoyed at the
prospect of human companionship, promptly climbed over the low wall
and attached himself, in the _role_ of languishing captive, to Number
Two Sentry-Group of Number Three Piquet.
III
Meanwhile M'Snape had reached the forward edge of the wood, and was
cautiously reconnoitring the open ground in front of him. The moon
had disappeared altogether now, but M'Snape was able to calculate, by
reason of the misdirected exuberance of the vigilant Mucklewame, the
exact position of the sentry-group on the left-hand road. About the
road on his right he was not so certain; so he set out cautiously
towards it, keeping to the edge of the wood, and pausing every few
yards to listen. There must be a sentry-group somewhere here, he
calculated--say midway between the roads.
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