glossy, dark-green leaves
over his head; for the sun had just risen and was bronzing the leaves
with ruddy gold.

The birds were singing somewhere at the edge of the forest, and all
seemed so wonderful and strange that the boy muttered to himself as he
asked the question, "Where am I?"

So deep had been his sleep that it seemed to be one great puzzle.

He knew it was cold, and he wondered at that, for now and then he felt a
faint glow of warm sunshine. Then, like a flash, recollection came
back, and he turned his head to gaze at his companion, but only to
wrench himself away and roll over and over a yard or two, before sitting
up quickly, trembling violently. For he was chilled with horror by the
thought that his companion had passed away during the night.

It was some minutes before he dared speak. "Pen!" he whispered, at
last. "Gray!" He waited, with the horror deepening, for there his
companion lay upon his back motionless, and though he strained his neck
towards him he could detect no movement of his breath, while his own
staring eyes began to grow dim, and the outstretched figure before him
looked misty and strange.

"He's dead! He's dead!" groaned the poor fellow. "And me lying
sleeping there, never taking any notice of him when he called for help--
for he must have called--and me pretending to be his comrade all the
time! 'Tain't how he treated me. Oh, Pen! Pen Gray, old chap! Speak
to me, if it's only just one word! Oh, if I had not laid down! I ought
to have stood up and watched him; but I did think it was to keep him
warm. No, you didn't!" he cried angrily, addressing himself. "You did
it to warm yourself."

At last, recovering his nerve somewhat, the boy began to crawl on hands
and knees towards the motionless figure, till he was near enough to lay
his hand upon his companion's breast. Then twice over he stretched it
out slowly and cautiously, but only to snatch it back, till a feeling of
rage at his cowardice ran through him, and he softly lowered it down,
let it rest there for a few moments, and then with a thrill of joy he
exclaimed, "Why, it's all fancy! He is alive."

"Yes, what? Who spoke?"

"I did," cried Punch, springing to his feet. "Hooray, comrade! It's
all right. I woke up, and began to think--Pst! pst!" he whispered, as
he dropped down upon hands and knees again. For there was a rush of
feet, and a patch of undergrowth a short distance beyond the spread of
the grea