And, running off, he soon overtook the dray, and, almost breathless, begged for water.
"A nice thing to ask for!" grumbled the driver. "Look at my bullocks. Water! why, it's worth more than champagne, such a day as this."
"I don't want it for myself," pleaded Grif; "but she'll die if you don't give me a little."
"Who will die if I don't give her a little?"
"My sister," said Grif, boldly. "She's been walkin' all day, and she's dead beat."
The man cast a queer look at Grif, and, stopping his bullocks, accompanied the lad to where Alice was lying. She had fainted.
"Poor lass!" said the bullock-driver, and, stooping, he raised her head upon his knee, and sprinkled her face with the water he had brought with him. Presently she opened her eyes, and gratefully drank from the tin cup he held to her lips.
"Thank you," she said. "I feel much better. I think I can walk on now."
But, when she rose to her feet, she staggered against the tree.
"You're not strong enough to walk," said the bullock-driver, who had been regarding her with compassionate curiosity. "Which way are you going?"