er, and there were times when the
watcher went out to listen and returned again and again to find Punch
sleeping more restfully, while the very fact that the boy seemed so calm
appeared to affect his comrade with a strange sense of drowsiness, out
of which he kept on rousing himself, muttering the while with annoyance,
"I can't have her come and find me asleep. It's so stupid. She must be
here soon."

And after a trot up and down in the direction in which he had seen the
girl pass, and back, he felt better.

"Sleep is queer," he said to himself. "I felt a few minutes ago as if I
couldn't possibly keep awake."

He softly touched Punch's temples again, to find them now quite cool,
and seating himself at the foot of the rough pallet he began to think
hopefully of the future, and then with his back propped against the
rough woodwork he stared wonderingly at the glowing orange disc of the
sun, which was peering over the mountains and sending its level rays
right through the open doorway of the hut.

Pen gazed at the soft, warm glow wonderingly, for everything seemed
strange and incomprehensible.

There was the sun, and here was he lying back with his shoulders against
the woodwork of the rough bed. But what did it all mean?

Then came the self-evolved answer, "Why, I have been asleep!"

Springing from the bed, he just glanced at his softly breathing
companion as he ran out to look once more in the direction taken by the
girl.

Then he stepped back again in the hope that she might have returned
during the night and brought some bread; but all was still, and not a
sign of anybody having been there.

Pen's heart sank.

"Grasping at shadows," he muttered. "Here have I been wasting time over
sleep instead of hunting for food."

Ignorant for the time being of the cause of the wretched feeling of
depression which now stole over him, and with no friendly voice at hand
to say, "Heart sinking? Despondent? Why, of course you are ready to
think anything is about to occur now that you are literally starving!"
Pen had accepted the first ill thought that had occurred to him, and
this was that his companion had turned worse in the night and was dying.

Bending over the poor fellow once more, he thrust a hand within the
breast of his shirt, and his spirits sank lower, for there was no
regular throbbing beat in response, for the simple reason that in his
hurry and confusion of intellect he had not felt in the right place