Where was he? Not on the hard floor of Pummy’s cage, but on something much harder--like iron. Was he in the wagon in which they carried the things for setting up the show? Something had happened to him, and his mother was taking him with her! But in that case he would be lying softer! _She_ would not have given him a bed so full of aches! What would they think at the bank? What would little Ann think if he came to her no more? He could not be in a caravan; the motion was much too smooth and pleasant for that! He put his hand to his face: what was it wet on his cheek? It did not feel nice; it felt like blood! Had he had a blow on the head? Was that what gave him this headache? He felt his head all over, but could find no hurt. Why was he lying like a log, wondering and wondering, instead of getting up and seeing what it all meant? It must be the darkness and the headache that kept him down! The place was very close! He _must_ get out of it! He tried to get on his feet, but as he rose, his head struck something, and he dropped back. He got again on his knees and groped about. On all sides he was closed in. But he was not shut in a dungeon of stone. He seemed to be in a great wooden box--small enough to be a box, much too large for a coffin. Could it be one of the oubliettes in the roof of the doge’s palace at Venice? He laughed at the idea, for the motion continued, the gentle earthquake that seemed trying to rock him to sleep: the doge’s palace could hardly be afloat on the grand canal! What could it all mean? What would little Ann do without him? She would not cry: she never cried--at least, he had never seen her cry! but that would not make it easier for her! What had become of Abdiel? Had Glum Gunn got him? Then the wet on his face was Abdiel’s blood--shed in his defence, perhaps, when his enemies were taking him away! Fears and anxieties, such as he had never known before, began to crowd upon him--not for himself; he was not made to think of himself, either first or second. Something dreadful might be going on that he could not prevent! He had never been so miserable. It was high time to do something--to ask the great one somewhere, he did not know where, who could somehow, he did not know how, hear the thoughts that were not words, to do what ought to be done for little Ann, and Abdiel, and Pummy! He prayed in his heart, lay still, and fell fast asleep. He came to himself again, in the act of drawing a deep breath of cool, delicious air. He was no longer shut in the dark, stifling box. He was coming alive! A comforting wind blew all about him. It was like a live thing putting its own life into him. But his eyelids were heavy; he was unable to open them. All at once they opened of themselves.