With the passing minutes the steady, regular breathing became more
apparent, the pulse asserted itself and grew stronger, and at the end of
an hour, when Bobby at last opened his eyes Skipper Ed saw that reason
had returned to them.
"I've--been--asleep--dreaming--queer--dreams," Bobby murmured faintly.
"Yes," said Skipper Ed, "you've been asleep."
"I--feel--very--weak."
"Yes, you're very weak, for you've been very sick, lad," and Skipper Ed,
choking back his emotion, added cheerily: "But there's better luck for
you now, lad. Better luck."
"May--I--have--a--drink?"
Skipper Ed poured some water into a tin cup, and supporting Bobby's
head, held the cup to his parched lips.
"Father--and mother--and Jimmy--where--are--they?" Bobby feebly asked,
for even in sickness his eye was quick to note their absence.
"They're in my tent. Nearly well, but not well enough to go out and get
chilled, though they're ready enough for it, and tired enough of staying
in," said Skipper Ed.
And then, wearied with the exertion, Bobby fell into deep and
strength-restoring slumber, and Skipper Ed joined the others to cheer
their hearts with the good news that Bobby's illness had passed its
climax, and to rejoice with them over a meager breakfast.
With the passing days Bobby grew rapidly stronger, and the others were
able to be out and at their duties again. And in due time Bobby, too,
was out on the rocks enjoying the sunlight, with his old vigor daily
asserting itself.
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