f one who was utterly
exhausted, and degenerated almost into a crawl.

He was back at last, to find that Punch had not moved, but seemed to be
sleeping heavily as he lay upon his sound shoulder; and, satisfied by
this, Pen laid his rifle and belts across the foot of the bed and drew a
deep breath.

"I can't help it," he nearly groaned. "It isn't selfish; but if I don't
have something I can do no more."

Then, strangely enough, he uttered a mocking laugh as he stepped to a
rough shelf and took a little pail-like vessel with one stave prolonged
into a handle from the place where it had been left clean by the last
occupant of the hut, and as he stepped with it to the open door
something within it rattled.

He looked down at it in surprise and wonder, and it was some moments
before he grasped the fact that the piece of what resembled blackened
clay was hard, dry cake.

"Ah!" he half-shouted as he raised it to his lips and tried to bite off
a piece, but only to break off what felt like wood, which refused to
crumble but gradually began to soften.

Then, smiling grimly, he thrust the cake within his jacket and stepped
out, forgetting his pain and stiffness, to find to his dismay that there
was no sign of the goat.

"How stupid!" he muttered the next minute. "My head won't go. I can't
think." And, recalling the goat's former visit to the rough shelter, he
hurried to where he had been a witness of its object, and to his great
delight found the animal standing with half-closed eyes nibbling at some
of the plentiful herbage while one of its kids was partaking of its
evening meal.

Pen advanced cautiously with the little wooden vessel, ready to seize
the animal by one of its horns if it attempted to escape, as it turned
sharply and stared at him in wonder; but it only sniffed as if in
recognition at the little pail, and resumed its browsing. But the kid
was disposed to resent the interruption of the stranger, and some little
force had to be used to thrust it away, returning again and again to
begin to make some pretence of butting at the intruder.

Pen laughed aloud at the absurdity of his task as he finally got rid of
the little animal, and made his first essay at milking, finding to his
great delight that he was successful, while the goat-mother took it all
as a matter of course, and did not move while her new friend refreshed
himself with a hearty draught of the contents of the little pail; and
then, snatching