We had been now about two months in Givet, when a Steel's List was sent to a lieutenant, who was confined there.

The lieutenant came up to O'Brien, and asked him his Christian name.
"Terence, to be sure," replied O'Brien.
"Then," answered the lieutenant, "I may congratulate you on your promotion, for here you are upon the list of August." "Sure there must be some trifling mistake; let me look at it.

Terence O'Brien, sure enough; but now the question is, has any other fellow robbed me of my name and promotion at the same time?
Bother, what can it mane?
I won't belave it--not a word of it.

I've no more interest than a dog who drags cats'-meat." "Really, O'Brien," observed I, "I cannot see why you should not be made; I am sure you deserve your promotion for your conduct when you were taken prisoner." "And what did I do then, you simple Peter, but put you on my back as the men do their hammocks when they are piped down; but, barring all claim, how could any one know what took place in the battery, except you, and I, and the armourer, who lay dead?
So explain that, Peter, if you can." "I think I can," replied I, after the lieutenant had left us.

And I then told O'Brien how I had written to Captain Savage, and had had the fact attested by the major who had made us prisoners.
"Well, Peter," said O'Brien, after a pause, "there's a fable about a lion and a mouse.