“And poor Uncle Tom,” he said to himself. “How sorry he will be! I liked Uncle Tom.”
Then there was a wave of delirium passed over, in which as in a dream he saw sparkling waters and bright rivers dancing in the sunshine, and all was happiness and joy, till he started into wakefulness once more at a low groan from Roylance, who lay close beside him.
The hideous truth was there: they were all dying of thirst, and Syd’s last thought seemed to be that he had forgotten to ask help from above till it was too late, and he could not form the words.
It was but a half delirious fancy, for he had prayed long and earnestly. But the idea grew strong now, and he tried to repeat the Lord’s prayer aloud.
No word came but to himself, and he went on sinking fast into unconsciousness till he came to “Give us this day—”
He started up, for something seemed to strike him, and he gazed wildly at the boy Pan, who had fallen from where he sat upon the box, and now struggled to his knees.
“Water!” he gasped—“so thirsty. Master Syd—water—water—I know where there’s lots o’ water—lots!”
He literally shrieked the words, and some one who had been leaning against the entrance stumbled in, electrified with strength as it were, as he shouted hoarsely—
“Water, my boy, water; where?”
Pan gazed about him wildly in the delirium that had attacked him in turn, and did not seem to understand.