left."

As she tried to make her aching bones lift her to her feet, she became
aware that the man was fumbling at his coverings and trying to say
something.

She bent down to hear his words, which were incredibly faint.

"I don't want any fire or any milk. I only wanted to know if you were
there," he said diffidently, as if ashamed of his childishness.

She leaned over him, speaking gently and touching his head softly with
her firm, cool hands.

"You're a little better now, aren't you, after your sleep? Don't you
feel a little stronger?"

"Yes, I'm better, lots better," he whispered. "I must have been
sleeping for ages. When I woke up I thought I had a beastly chill or
something; but I'm all right now; only suddenly I felt as if I must
know if you were there, and if it _was_ you."

He smiled at his own words, and Agatha was reassured.

"I think you'll be still better for a little milk," she said, and crept
away to get the pail, which had been hidden on a shelf of rock. When
she came back with it, James tried manfully to sit up; but Agatha
slipped an arm under his neck, in skilful nurse fashion, and held the
bucket while he drank, almost greedily. As he sank back on his bed he
whispered: "You are very good to take care of me."

"Oh, no; I'm only too glad! And now I'm going to build up the fire
again; your hands are quite cold."

"No, don't go," he pleaded. "Please stay here; I'm not cold any more.
And you must go to sleep again. I ought not to have wakened you; and,
really, I didn't mean to."

"Yes, you ought. I've had lots of sleep; I don't want any more."

"It's dark, but it's better than it was that other night, isn't it?"
said James.

"Much better," answered Agatha.

James visibly gathered strength from the milk, and presently he took
some more. Agatha watched, and when he had finished, patted him
approvingly on the hand, "Good boy! You've done very well," she cried.

"I was so thirsty, I thought the whole earth had run dry. Will you
think me very ungrateful if I say now I wish it had been water?"

"Oh, no; I wish so, too. But Mr. Hand could only get us a little bit
from a spring, for there isn't any other pail."

It was some time before Jim made out to inquire, "Who's Mr. Hand?"

"He's the man that helped us--out of the water--when we became
exhausted."

Agatha hesitated to speak of the night's experience, uncertain how far
Jim's memory carried him, and not knowing how a sick ma