“No, no; you first.”
“Drink!” roared the doctor, in a tone which startled his son, and without another word Ned’s father half emptied the mug and handed it to Wilton, who hurriedly drained it, and began to fill it once more.
“My turn to order now,” he cried, holding it to the doctor. “We’ve all had a taste now, Lee; you drink all that.”
Griggs did not move a muscle, but stood firm, holding the lanthorn now; but he gave a side glance at the glistening cup as the doctor drank, suffering agony the while, but only to heave a sigh of thankfulness on seeing that his leader only swallowed half and then passed him the remainder.
“I thought dad wouldn’t forget him,” whispered Chris to Ned, and perhaps it might have been only a couple of drops of the water that had gone the wrong way, but certainly something like a couple of tears glistened for a few moments in Chris’s eyes.
“Thank ye, doctor,” said Griggs hoarsely, and the next moment there was a sound like glug—glug!! and the tin mug was empty.
“Must have another drink round; eh, doctor?” said Wilton.
“Drink?” was the reply. “Well, yes; fill up. We must find water to-morrow.”
Half a cupful was passed to each then, swallowed with avidity, and then Wilton sighed as he helped to secure the tompion in its place.
“Now,” cried the doctor, “we all want to lie down and rest, but I’m sure we should none of us sleep for thinking of water. The night is fairly clear, and I feel that I can guide you up the rising ground, so I propose that we go on at once.”