“There, I am too tired to argue with you, Punch,” said Pen with a sigh. “You have drunk all the water, then?”
“Course I have, hours ago, and eat the last of the bread, and I should have eat that bit of hard, dry cheese, only I let it slip out of my fingers and it bounced like a bit of wood under the bed. Well, whatcher brought for us to eat?”
“Nothing, I am sorry to say.”
“Well, but what are we going to do? We can’t starve.”
“I am afraid we can, Punch, if things are going on like this.”
“But they ain’t to go on like this. I won’t lie here and starve. Nice thing for a poor fellow tied up here so bad that he couldn’t pick up a bit of wittles again as had tumbled down, and you gone off roaming about where you liked, leaving your poor wounded comrade to die! Oh, I do call it a shame!” cried the lad piteously.
“Yes, it does seem a shame, Punch,” said Pen gently; “but I can fetch some water. Are you very thirsty?”
“Thirsty? Course I am! Burnt up! It has been like an oven here all day.”
Pen caught up the wooden seau and hurried out through the wood, to return in a few minutes with the vessel brimful of cold, clear water, which he set down ready, and then after carefully raising the poor boy into a sitting position he lifted the well-filled drinking-cup to his lips and replenished it again twice before the poor fellow would give up.
“Ah!” he sighed, “that’s better! Which way did you go this time?”