“I hope so,” was the reply. “Let’s try. Come along. Hang on to my hand; or, look here, Phil, what do you say to a pig-a-back?”
“Yes,” cried the little fellow, holding out his hands eagerly. “No, I won’t. I’m not quite tired, and I’m getting so heavy now. It isn’t far, is it?”
“Not very,” said the Doctor, rather faintly, and they trudged on and reached a little stream, which cut its way through the sandy land just at the very edge of a pine wood, to sink at once upon the bank.
There were no fish visible, but the clear water was delicious, and they drank long and deeply, before bathing their weary and sore feet.
“What fun!” cried Phil, reviving a little as he buried his feet in the soft, warm, dry sand and let it trickle between his toes.
But a cloud came over his face directly after, for it was many hours since anything had passed his lips. There was abundance of dead wood low down about the trunks of the fir-trees, but no flint and steel or tinder-box to obtain fire, and the evening was very near.
The Doctor looked far and near, but no farmhouse or settlement was in sight, and when after a long rest he proposed that they should make a fresh start and Phil replaced his socks and shoes, he limped when he stood up, and in spite of a brave effort the tears would come to his eyes.
“Let’s rest a little longer,” said the Doctor, tenderly, and he led the way a short distance into what proved to be a vast pine forest, where the needles that had fallen for ages lay in a thick dry bed. “Let’s try here,” he said, as he raked a hollow beneath the great far-spreading boughs, which were thick enough to form a shelter from any wind or rain that might come.
“Lie down, my boy,” said the old man, gently, and the little fellow glanced at him piteously and obeyed.