vided thou wilt supply me with something healing for this wound in my hand where the gunpowder from my musket burned me, yesterday morn.” Gysbert hunted in his bag, brought out a small bundle of dried leaves, and recited as if by rote:
“Thou shalt steep these in boiling water. Thou shalt make a poultice with the leaves thus steeped. Thou shalt bind it on thy wound. In two days thou shalt be better.”
“Thanks, little numbskull! Thy poultice and not thy wits have saved thee! And now, cut away quickly!” Availing himself not too hastily of the permission, Gysbert strolled away as if there were not a thought of danger in his mind. But no sooner was he out of sight of the sentinel than he took to his heels and ran swiftly and silently through the still sleeping camp.
“If only I can reach the outskirts before they waken, all will be well!” he thought. Once again only, at the edge of the encampment, he was challenged by another sentry.
