In his state it took him some time to go and fetch them; he was nearly suffocating when he came creeping back, his shoulders up to his ears.

“Stop! I see something else. Is that medicine-bottle yours? There—catching the sun.”

“It was.”

“Bring it.”

“It's empty.”

“Bring it!”

Pocket obeyed. The strange man was standing [pg 48] on a chair behind the palings, waiting to help him over, with a wary eye upon the path. But no third creature was in sight except the insensate sprawler in the dew. Pocket surmounted the obstacle, he knew not how; he was almost beside himself in the throes of his attack. Later, he feared he must have been lifted down like a child; but this was when he was getting his . . . Read More