know they do it to people that
faint--with eau-de-Cologne. But I expect milk's just as good."

So they wetted his ears, and some of the milk ran down his neck under
the red jersey. It was very dark in the tunnel. The candle end Peter had
carried, and which now burned on a flat stone, gave hardly any light at
all.

"Oh, DO look up," said Phyllis. "For MY sake! I believe he's dead."

"For MY sake," repeated Bobbie. "No, he isn't."

"For ANY sake," said Peter; "come out of it." And he shook the sufferer
by the arm.

And then the boy in the red jersey sighed, and opened his eyes, and shut
them again and said in a very small voice, "Chuck it."

"Oh, he's NOT dead," said Phyllis. "I KNEW he wasn't," and she began to
cry.

"What's up? I'm all right," said the boy.

"Drink this," said Peter, firmly, thrusting the nose of the milk bottle
into the boy's mouth. The boy struggled, and some of the milk was upset
before he could get his mouth free to say:--

"What is it?"

"It's milk," said Peter. "Fear not, you are in the hands of friends.
Phil, you stop bleating this minute."

"Do drink it," said Bobbie, gently; "it'll do you good."

So he drank. And the three stood by without speaking to him.

"Let him be a minute," Peter whispered; "he'll be all right as soon as
the milk begins to run like fire through his veins."

He was.

"I'm better now," he announced. "I remember all about it." He tried to
move, but the movement ended in a groan. "Bother! I believe I've broken
my leg," he said.

"Did you tumble down?" asked Phyllis, sniffing.

"Of course not--I'm not a kiddie," said the boy, indignantly; "it was
one of those beastly wires tripped me up, and when I tried to get up
again I couldn't stand, so I sat down. Gee whillikins! it does hurt,
though. How did YOU get here?"

"We saw you all go into the tunnel and then we went across the hill to
see you all come out. And the others did--all but you, and you didn't.
So we are a rescue party," said Peter, with pride.

"You've got some pluck, I will say," remarked the boy.

"Oh, that's nothing," said Peter, with modesty. "Do you think you could
walk if we helped you?"

"I could try," said the boy.

He did try. But he could only stand on one foot; the other dragged in a
very nasty way.

"Here, let me sit down. I feel like dying," said the boy. "Let go of
me--let go, quick--" He lay down and closed his eyes. The others looked
at each other by the dim light of the