CRUSOE ASLEEP.
Here, too, Friday had followed his master; the simple, childlike Friday, the most devoted of servants, the gentlest of savages, the faithfullest of men! Blessing on thee, Robinson, how I have admired thy prolific genius; how I have loved thee for thine honest truthfulness! And blessings on thee, Friday, how my young heart hath warmed toward thee! how I have laughed at thy scalded fingers, and wept lest the savages should take thee away from me! * * *
CHAPTER VI.
THE VALLEY ON FIRE.
There was a sudden rustling in the bushes.
"Hallo, there!" shouted a voice. I looked round and beheld a fellow-passenger, a strange, eccentric man, who was seldom known to laugh, and whose chief pleasure consisted in reducing every thing to the practical standard of common sense. He was deeper than would appear at first sight, and not a bad sort of person at heart, but a little wayward and desponding in his views of life.
"You'll catch cold," said he; "nothing gives a cold so quick as sitting on the damp ground."
"True," said I, smiling; "but recollect the romance of the thing."
"Romance," rejoined the sad man, "won't cure a cold. I never knew it to cure one in my life."