section of the emigrant band, and the other sections having been
ministered to more or less successfully by their more or less capable
cooks, Dominick and Otto went up to the golden cave to dinner, which
they well knew the faithful Pauline would have ready waiting for them.

"What a day we have had, to be sure!" said Dominick as they walked
along; "and I'm as hungry as a kangaroo."

Without noticing the unreasonableness of supposing that long-legged
creature to be the hungriest of animals, Otto declared that he was in
the same condition, "if not more so."

On opening the door they were checked by the expression of Pauline's
face, the speaking eyes of which, and the silent mouth, were
concentrated into an unmistakable "hush!"--which was emphasised by a
significant forefinger.

"What's wrong?" whispered Dominick, anxiously.

"Sleeping," murmured Pauline--she was too good a nurse to whisper--
pointing to the invalid, who, overcome with the night's exposure and the
morning's excitement, had fallen into a profound slumber on Otto's
humble couch.

This was a rather severe and unexpected trial to Otto, who had come up
to the cave brimming over with camp news for Pauline's benefit. He felt
that it was next to impossible to relate in a whisper all the doings and
sayings, comical and otherwise, that he had seen and heard that day. To
eat his dinner and say nothing seemed equally impossible. To awaken the
wearied sleeper was out of the question. However, there was nothing for
it but to address himself to the suppression of his feelings. Probably
it was good for him to be thus self-disciplined; certainly it was
painful.

He suffered chiefly at the top of the nose--inside behind his eyes--that
being the part of the safety-valve where bursts of laughter were
checked; and more than once, while engaged in a whispering commentary on
the amiable widow Lynch, the convulsions within bade fair to blow the
nasal organ off his face altogether. Laughter is catching. Pauline and
Dominick, ere long, began to wish that Otto would hold his tongue. At
last, some eccentricity of Joe Binney, or his brother, or Mrs Lynch, we
forget which, raised the pressure to such a pitch that the safety-valves
of all three became ineffective. They all exploded in unison, and poor
Marsh was brought to consciousness, surprise, and a sitting posture at
the same instant.

"I'm afraid," he said, rather sheepishly, "that I've been sleeping."

"You ha