“How I know?” cried Pomp, irritably. “I tought Mass’ George play trick. Hi! Mass’ George, you dah?”
“Yes,” I said. “What is it?”
“You got anyfing to eat? I so dreffle hungry.”
“No, Pomp,” I replied, sadly; “nothing at all.”
“You been sleep, sah?” he continued, turning to my father.
“No, my lad, no,” replied my father, good-humouredly, and I heard the boy yawn loudly.
There was no need to measure the water now, or to be in doubt as to whether it was rising, for it had wetted our feet as we sat astride, or eased the position by sitting in the ordinary way. But the stars still shone, and the night dragged its slow way on.
“Will morning never come?” I said, despairingly to my father at last. “Oh, I am so—so sleepy.”
He took my hand and pressed it. “Try and bear it all like a man, my boy,” he whispered. “There is a woman with us, and you have not heard her make a single complaint.”
“No; it was very selfish and cowardly of me, father,” I whispered back, “and I will try.”