have
to walk home in them."

At this thought the unfortunate youth's tears fell fast. But Oswald gave
him an arm, and carried his boots for him, and he consented to buck up,
and the two struggled on towards the others, who were coming back,
attracted by Denny's yells. He did not stop howling for a moment, except
to breathe. No one ought to blame him till they have had eleven leeches
on their right leg and six on their left, making seventeen in all, as
Dicky said, at once.

It was lucky he did yell, as it turned out, because a man on the
road--where the telegraph wires were--was interested by his howls, and
came across the marsh to us as hard as he could.

When he saw Denny's legs he said:

"Blest if I didn't think so," and he picked Denny up and carried him
under one arm, where Denny went on saying "Oh!" and "It does hurt" as
hard as ever.

Our rescuer, who proved to be a fine big young man in the bloom of
youth, and a farm-laborer by trade, in corduroys, carried the wretched
sufferer to the cottage where he lived with his aged mother; and then
Oswald found that what he had forgotten about the leeches was _salt_.
The young man in the bloom of youth's mother put salt on the leeches,
and they squirmed off, and fell with sickening, slug-like flops on the
brick floor.

Then the young man in corduroys and the bloom, etc., carried Denny home
on his back, after his legs had been bandaged up, so that he looked like
"wounded warriors returning."

It was not far by the road, though such a long distance by the way the
young explorers had come.

He was a good young man, and though, of course, acts of goodness are
their own reward, still I was glad he had the two half-crowns Albert's
uncle gave him, as well as his own good act. But I am not sure Alice
ought to have put him in the Golden Deed book which was supposed to be
reserved for Us.

Perhaps you will think this was the end of the source of the Nile (or
north pole). If you do, it only shows how mistaken the gentlest reader
may be.

The wounded explorer was lying with his wounds and bandages on the sofa,
and we were all having our tea, with raspberries and white currants,
which we richly needed after our torrid adventures, when Mrs. Pettigrew,
the housekeeper, put her head in at the door and said:

"Please could I speak to you half a moment, sir," to Albert's uncle. And
her voice was the kind that makes you look at each other when the
grown-up has gone out, and yo