"No, not yet! But I think—I hope—I've made a discovery! Look!" He pointed to the vase.
She caught her breath. "There might be water in it?"
"Yes, I'm sure there is." Again, more steadily this time, he mounted the little sliding book ladder and reached for the vase, and Honor stood watching him with wide eyes, her cracked lips parted.
"Water?" she whispered.
He nodded solemnly, shaking the tall vase for her to hear the heartening sound of it. When he stood on the floor he held it toward her. "You first, Honor."
"No." She was trembling. "We'll pour it out into a pitcher. If there's enough to divide, we'll all have some. If there's just a little, we'll give it to Mr. King." She went away, walking a little unsteadily, putting out a hand here and there against the wall or the back of a chair, and in a moment she came back with a tall glass pitcher. "Careful, Cartie ... mustn't spill a drop...."
There was less than a cupful of dark, stale water, with bits of fern fronds floating in it.
"Only enough for him," said Honor, her chin quivering. "Oh, Cartie, I'm so thirsty ... so crazy thirsty...."
"You must take it yourself," said Carter, sternly. "Every drop." He held the pitcher up to her.
Honor hesitated. "Cartie, I couldn't trust myself to drink it out of the pitcher ... I'm afraid ... but I'll pour out about two teaspoonfuls for each of us...." She poured an inch of water into a tiny glass. "You first, Carter."