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“H’m—they are not bruised, these two.” Old people were queer, thought John, for “balm” was something that was used for wounds—he knew that very well—and yet there lay Jeremias and said that there was balm in those words, “God will never, never forsake thee.” “I live over the hill there,” answered the other boy. “Dad’s a stock raiser. You can see the house from the river after you get down a little further. I sneaked away from my old man this morning to see if I could get a few fish. They aren’t biting very good here, though,” he concluded. “I wish I had a boat, because I know of a peach of a place—”.

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But this would not do except as a last resort, when all his will power and determination had fled. With infinite care Bob shifted his position a little and so gave his tortured muscles a slight rest. A few moments later he was glad he had not given up to his fatigue, for Miguel arose leisurely and sauntered down the hill, evidently not at all bothered about being seen. Jeremias seemed to have no more to say. Stumbling, panting, he ran around the corner of the hut, urged by the knowledge that he was afire. Luckily the river nearly touched the back wall of the hut that had been his prison. A few steps and he fell face downward in the shallows. “The poor beggar has sure been punished,” said the soldier..