Chapter Four.
Another boy.
It was either sunrise or sunset, for the cabin was full of a rich warm glow, and Fitz lay upon his back listening to a peculiar sound which sounded to him like fuzz, whuzz, thrum.
He did not attempt to turn his head for some moments, though he wanted to know what made those sounds, for during some little time he felt too lazy to stir, and at last he turned his head gently and remembered the eyes that had looked at him once, and recalled the face now bent down over something before him from which came those peculiar sounds.
Fitz felt interested, and watched the busy ringers, the passing and re-passing needle, and the manipulation of a mesh, for some time before he spoke.
“How quick and clever he is!” he thought, and then almost unconsciously a word slipped out.
“Netting?” he said.
Needle, string and mesh were thrown down, and Fitz’s fellow-occupier of the cabin started up and came to his side, to bend over and lay a brown cool hand upon his forehead.
“Feel better?” he said.