Thrusting his hand into his breast, there was a faint rattle as he drew out tinder-box and match, and then felt for a candle in the box he had carried slung by a strap from the shoulder, and laid it ready.
The next minute he was nicking a piece of flint against the steel, striking sparks down into the box, and at the second sharp click Mark started awake.
“Yes! What is it?” he cried—“Where am I?”
“On’y here, Master Mark,” replied the boy. “Candle’s gone out.”
“Why, Dummy! Have we been to sleep?”
“I s’pose so, Master Mark. Po–o–o–o–f–f–uf! There we are!”
He had obtained a light, the match burning up brightly, and then the candle, after the fluffy wick had been burnt and blown.
“How tiresome! I don’t know, though. I feel rested.”
“Being up all last night, I s’pose,” said Dummy, as he stuck the candle in the crack.
“Yes, of course; that’s it. Think we’ve been asleep long?”