Then his head dropped on his friend's shoulder, and he fairly broke down and sobbed.
"Fred," said Frank, "you're generally the bravest of the two"—Frank took no note of his grammar to-night, poor lad—"but now I must take you in hand."
"Oh, Frank! but you don't know how much I love Toddie, no one can ever know; and if she dies, and I'm sure she will, I don't want ever to do anything again."
"I tell you, Fred, she won't die. Now don't be silly, Fred." Frank patted his friend, and soothed him as if he had been a baby. He really was a baby in heart at present, for the dear boy had had no sleep for so long a time, and sorrow weighs the eyelids down.
He was quiet at last, sobbed a little now and then, opened his hands once or twice very wide, clutched his right hand, and slept.
Then his friend lowered him gently to the deck, placed a jacket under his head, and gradually drew himself high enough up to watch Toddie.
Tip looked at him with his sad brown eyes. "Somebody has hurt my poor little mistress," he seemed to say; "can't you help her?"
It looked as if nothing could ever help Toddie again. Her breath came in gasps, and her eyes were only partially closed.
Suddenly it occurred to Frank that he had in the ship that little fever mixture his mother always made him take a teaspoonful of when ill. It was there in the cupboard, and he got it at once.
Tippetty watched him.