"No, don't go," he pleaded. "Please stay here; I'm not cold any more. And you must go to sleep again. I ought not to have wakened you; and, really, I didn't mean to."
"Yes, you ought. I've had lots of sleep; I don't want any more."
"It's dark, but it's better than it was that other night, isn't it?" said James.
"Much better," answered Agatha.
James visibly gathered strength from the milk, and presently he took some more. Agatha watched, and when he had finished, patted him approvingly on the hand, "Good boy! You've done very well," she cried.
"I was so thirsty, I thought the whole earth had run dry. Will you think me very ungrateful if I say now I wish it had been water?"
"Oh, no; I wish so, too. But Mr. Hand could only get us a little bit from a spring, for there isn't any other pail."
It was some time before Jim made out to inquire, "Who's Mr. Hand?"
"He's the man that helped us—out of the water—when we became exhausted."
Agatha hesitated to speak of the night's experience, uncertain how far Jim's memory carried him, and not knowing how a sick man, in his weakness, might be affected. Still, now that he seemed almost himself again, save for the chill, she ventured to refer to the event, speaking in a matter-of-fact way, as if such endurance tests were the most natural events in the world. James' speech was quite coherent and distinct, but very slow, as if the effort to speak came from the depths of a profound fatigue.