Arthur Brown

The French Prisoners of Norman Cross Arthur Brown

And then the light-hearted fellow-for a light heart is often a kind one-seeing that open raillery was powerless, tried gentler means to cheer his companion up. "Look, Tournier," he whispered, after a pause, "what a charming view is on the left there. We must be on high ground. What a panorama for poor flat England! If we are good boys, we shall be out on parole, and be able to stroll about the country, and chat with the cherry-lipped maidens at the farms, and drink the farm-house milk, and, what is better, their famous English beer. And look, there is a lake, I declare. It seems a good-sized one. We will go fishing." So he ran on; and though the words pattered down in vain, like rain upon the pavement, yet the evident intention unconsciously pleased, as kind intentions often, if not always, do, however awkward the way in which they are displayed. And now, as the column passed a clump of trees at a bend in the road, the barracks and their surroundings suddenly came into view.