“Now, Mark, wake up your companion,” said the captain. “He ought to be able to walk after eight hours’ rest.”
Jimpny started into wakefulness at a touch, and on being spoken to answered, in a vacant wandering way, something about the fire and wanting his spear; but the day was rapidly coming round, and the faces of those in the shelter of the rocks growing visible.
“What’s the matter?” said the stowaway suddenly. “Have they got off the bales and boxes.—No, I—I—is that you, Mr Mark?”
“Yes, all right, Jimpny. Had a good sleep?”
“Yes, I think so. I—I’m not quite awake. Yes, I recollect now.”
“Can you walk a couple of miles or so, my lad?” said the captain.
“Yes, sir; yes, I can walk,” said the stowaway; “but there are some birds here. Let me help carry the birds.”
“No, no; they’re all right, my lad,” said Small. “You carry yourself. That’s enough for you to do. Ready, sir.”
“Come along, then,” said the captain; and he led the way out into the delicious early morning with the light growing rapidly now and showing the trees laden with moisture, whose only effect upon the sand had been to beat it down into a firm path, so that they would have been able to go rapidly had it not been for the weakness of the stowaway.
“Better when I’ve had some breakfast,” he said feebly. “Been a bit bad, sir. Soon get well, though, now.”