"You couldn't look like that whilst we was seekin' her," said he, drily. "Why, what's wrong now?" Denis had shot upright in bed. "Didn't we find her?" he cried. "Yes, yes, of course we did! I remember now. I'm so grateful to you; that's exactly what I was trying to remember. Well? Well? And how is she?" "Right as the mail, mister, so they all say; but I haven't seen her yet." "You're sure they say so?" "Sure as my name's Jimmy Dockerty." Denis fell back with a whispered thanksgiving. "What did you say your name was?" he asked presently. "Dockerty," replied the boy. "Christian name of Jim." "Well, Jim, I don't forget you. It was you I clapped eyes on first, and I'm almost as glad to see you again. Where am I exactly?" "Merinderie Station: the barricks." "The what?" "Where the parlour men camp," explained Mr. Doherty, darkly. "You've got the tooter's room; he has his schoolroom next door." "It's very quiet." "They've all cleared out for the day, apuppus; and you ain't in the house, you see, though nice and handy. But I'll have to go over to the house, to tell 'em you've waked up. There was something ready for you the moment you did. But, I say--mister!" And the boy stood wistfully beside the bed. "Well, Jim?" "Ask for me to come back and set along of you! Say you feel lonely like, and ask for me to look arter you, mister. You needn't take no notice of me, and no more won't I say nothink, if you don't want." "But I shall want, Jimmy. I shall want you to tell me heaps of things. Go and say so for me, by all means; and bring me anything they like to send, though a cup of tea is all I fancy." But when a chop was sent in characteristic conjunction it was eaten with its slice of damper, and so heartily as to exclude immediate conversation. "One thing at a time," said Denis, "and the next thing is a wash; but I don't mean to get up yet a bit." "I wouldn't," said the boy, removing the tray and flourishing a towel. "The young lady, there ain't any signs of 'er either; I'll give you the word when there is."