o sometimes."

"I don't believe it; they must always go round. Oh, I do wish we hadn't
come."

Somehow or other, the more low-spirited and doleful Ned became, the more
hopeful and cheery Chris seemed. Perhaps it was what he called
make-believe, and put on by a great effort, but he was the brightest of
the party and brought a smile to the lip of every one in turn with his
light, trivial remarks, all of which, however, had a suggestion that, in
spite of their terrible sufferings, he was looking at the best side of
things.

"I say, father," he cried, as mid-day was approaching, "this is a better
desert than the other one we crossed."

"I don't see much difference, my boy. Why do you think so?"

"It's so nice and smooth. You don't have to keep stumbling over
stones."

"But that's a fault, boy," said his father. "Some of those great stones
cast a little shade. Here we have none. Halt!" he cried loudly. "Four
hours' rest and sleep."

The mules were unloaded, the ponies' saddles removed, and the tent-sheet
was spread over the horizontal raised pole for shade, such as it was;
and then no one thought of how, but lay down to sleep, lying motionless
till the doctor summoned them again for the resumption of the march,
when all began to compare notes.

"Sleep? No, I never had a wink," said Ned. "Who could sleep, with the
sun seeming to burn a hole in that canvas?"

"I didn't go to sleep either," said Chris; "but one feels a bit rested
with lying down."

"No, one don't," said Ned; and the weary tramp went on, with nothing
visible in front of the overstrained eyes but the glare, and a thick
misty look as if the atmosphere was full of hot, dusty sand.

The pace at which they went on appeared to be slower, but it was the
party's want of perception which diminished and magnified at the same
time, principally the latter, in making the journey appear longer than
it really was, while that hot afternoon went on in a nightmare-like
waking dream which made Ned complain at last that he was going off his
head.

"I'm not," said Chris, laughing. "I feel as if I'm always going off my
legs."

"What nonsense!" grumbled Ned.

"It isn't; I feel so. It's just as if my body goes on while my feet
keep sinking in the sand and won't keep up."

"I wish you wouldn't talk," said Ned.

"Why? Do you want to think?"

"No, of course I don't. I only want to keep on in this half-asleep way;
it makes it a little better then."