Here is another story of the bat-tle-field, and it is much like the

one which I have just told you.

Not quite a hundred years after the time of Sir Philip Sidney there

was a war between the Swedes and the Danes. One day a great battle was

fought, and the Swedes were beaten, and driven from the field. A

soldier of the Danes who had been slightly wounded was sitting on the

ground. He was about to take a dri
k from a flask. All at once he

heard some one say,--

"O sir! give me a drink, for I am dying."

It was a wounded Swede who spoke. He was lying on the ground only a

little way off. The Dane went to him at once. He knelt down by the

side of his fallen foe, and pressed the flask to his lips.

"Drink," said he, "for thy need is greater than mine."

Hardly had he spoken these words, when the Swede raised himself on his

elbow. He pulled a pistol from his pocket, and shot at the man who

would have be-friend-ed him. The bullet grazed the Dane's shoulder,

but did not do him much harm.

"Ah, you rascal!" he cried. "I was going to befriend you, and you

repay me by trying to kill me. Now I will punish you. I would have

given you all the water, but now you shall have only half." And with

that he drank the half of it, and then gave the rest to the Swede.

When the King of the Danes heard about this, he sent for the soldier

and had him tell the story just as it was.

"Why did you spare the life of the Swede after he had tried to kill

you?" asked the king.

"Because, sir," said the soldier, "I could never kill a wounded


"Then you deserve to be a no-ble-man," said the king. And he

re-ward-ed him by making him a knight, and giving him a noble title.