ld have been after us before
now to cut us out, and--and--I say, my head's beginning to swim again."

"Exactly, you are tired out and must go to sleep again."

"But I tell you I don't--"

The poor boy stopped short, to gaze appealingly in his companion's eyes
as if asking for help, and the help Pen gave was to lay his hand gently
on his eyelids and keep it there till he felt that the sufferer had sunk
into a deep sleep.

The next day the poor fellow had quite a serious relapse, and lay
looking so feeble that once more Pen in his alarm stood watching and
blaming himself for rousing the boy into such a state of excitement that
he seemed to have caused him serious harm.

But just as Punch seemed at the worst he brightened up again.

"Look here," he said, "I ain't bad. I know what it is."

"So do I," replied Pen. "You have been trying your strength too much."

"Wrong!" cried the boy faintly. "It was you give me too much to eat.
You ought to have treated me like a doctor would, or as if I was a
prisoner, and given me dry bread."

"Ah!" sighed Pen. "But where was the bread to come from?"

"Jusso," said Punch, with a faint little laugh; "and you can't make
bread without flour, can you? But don't you think I'm going to die,
because I am ever so much better to-day, and shall be all right soon.
Now, go on talking to me again about your uncle."

"No," said Pen, "you have heard too much of my troubles already."

"Oh no, I ain't. I want to hear you talk about it."

"Then you will have to wait, Punch."

"All right, then. I shall lie and think till my head begins to go round
and round, and I shall go on thinking about myself till I get all
miserable and go backwards. You don't want that, do you?"

"You know I don't."

"Very well, then, let's have some more uncle. It's like doctor's stuff
to me. I've been thinking that you might wait a bit, and then go and
see that lawyer chap and punch his head, only that would be such a
common sort of way. It would be all right if it was me, but it wouldn't
do for you. This would be better. I have thought it out."

"Yes, you think too much, Punch," said Pen, laying his hand upon his
companion's forehead.

"I wish you wouldn't do that," cried the boy pettishly. "It's nice and
cool now."

"Yes, it is better now. That last sleep did you good."

"Not it, for I was thinking all the time."

"Nonsense! You were fast asleep."

"Yesterday," said the boy; "but I was o