way."

This last was a tremendous roar through his hands, sent in the direction
of the forest below, and as soon as it was answered, the man turned
again to Lane.

"Only to think on it being me as found yer, sir. I do call it luck. I
come out o' the wood, and I says to myself, `I shouldn't wonder, Billy,
old man, if Muster Lane's over yonder, among them rocks, for it's just
the sorter place to make a roost on,' and I come along, and see yer fast
asleep, and here yer are, sir, not a bit dead, are yer?"

"No, no, I'm all right, Wriggs, only so stiff, I can hardly move."

"Course yer are, sir. But never you mind about that. You wait till
Tommy Smith comes up, and us two'll give yer a real 'poo, sir--none of
yer sham 'uns--and make yer jyntes as lissom as injy rubber. Why, sir,
we begun to think you was a goner. How did yer get here?"

"Tell me first how you got here."

"That's me as will, sir," cried the man with alacrity, as he keenly
watched Lane's efforts to rise, and lent him a hand. "Yer see, we
couldn't get through that steam as runs all along across the low land."

"Was any one the worse for getting through?" cried Lane, eagerly, and
Billy Wriggs scratched his ear.

"Well, sir, yer see, none on us weren't none the wuss for getting
through, 'cause we didn't get through; but lots on us was all the wuss
for not getting through. My heye! Talk about too much grog when yer
ashore, it's nothing to it. It's the tipsyest stuff I ever swallowed.
How did you manage, sir?"

"I--I don't know; I struggled through it, somehow, and then fell down
insensible."

"Onsensible, course yer did, sir. It knocks all the gumption out on yer
'fore yer knows where yer are. Ahoy! mate! This way, Tommy. Here he
is!"

The trees below them had been parted, and, all scratched and bleeding,
Smith appeared, and as soon as he caught sight of Lane, he slapped his
legs heavily, turned round, and yelled aloud.

Then he ran up at a trot, grinning hugely.

"That's you, sir," he cried, "and I'm glad on it. They said as we
should only find yer cold corpus, and `No,' I says, `if we finds his
corpus at all, it won't be cold but hot roast. There's no getting cold
here. But I knows better. Too much stuff in him,' I says. `He'll
sarcumwent all the trouble somehow. Master Oliver Lane aren't the lad
to lie down and give up,' and I was right, warn't I, Billy?"

"Ay, mate, you was right this time."

"Course I was, Billy; but ye