"Poor old man!" says the boy to himself; "how tired he looks. And to think I have done so much to hurt his feelings! I wish I could tell him how sorry I am; but I must not wake him." Again the ambushed eye opens, and the little corner of the sleeper's soul that happens to be _not_ asleep, reconnoitres. Frank is sitting there still, faithfully watching. A stream of electric fire tingles in that misanthropic breast, at the sight. But still the old man snores. "I may as well lie down and go to sleep too," says Frank. And, very softly, so as not to awaken Mr. Sinjin, he lays himself down by his side, puts his cheek on the pillow of boughs, and keeps perfectly still. The heart of the veteran burns within him, but he makes no sign. And now--hark! Patter, patter, patter. It is beginning to rain. This, then, is what the dark canopy meant, hanging so luridly over the fire-lit forest. Patter, patter; faster, faster; dripping through the trees, hissing in the fire, capering like fairies on the ground, comes the midnight rain. Sinjin thinks it about time to wake. But Frank is stirring; so he concludes to sleep a little longer, and see what he will do. Frank takes some pine boughs, and lays them carefully over the old man, to shelter him from the rain. Hotter and hotter glows the old heart beneath; melt it must soon. "There!" says Frank in a whisper; "don't tell him I did it!" He is going. Old Sinjin can sleep--or pretend to sleep--no more. "Hello! Who's there?"--awaking with amazing suddenness.--"That you, Frank? What are you here for at this time of night?" "O, I'm a privileged character. They let me go around the camp about as I like, you know." "How long has it been raining? And how came all this rubbish heaped over me?" The pattering becomes a rushing in the tree-tops, a wild sibilation as of serpents in the fire, and a steady rattling and whizzing in the swamps. "Well, well! this won't do, boy! Come with me!" They run to the shelter of a huge leaning trunk and crouch beneath it. "You're not so used to these things as I am," says the old man, shielding the boy with his arms. "Let me bring some boughs to throw over you!" cries Frank. "No--sit still! You have heaped boughs enough on me for one night!" "Were you--awake?" "One eye was a little awake." "And you saw!" "I saw all you did, my boy!" Frank knows not whether to be happy or ashamed. Neither speaks. The storm is roaring in the trees. The water drips and the spray sifts upon them, At length Frank says,-- "I wanted to tell you I have the watch again, and I know who gave it to me, and I think he is one of the best old men in the world. And I wanted to say that I am very sorry for every thing I have said and done that was wrong." The bosom of the lonely old man heaves as he answers, "Don't, my boy! don't say you are sorry--I can't stand that!" And he hugs the boy close. "But why didn't you want me to know you gave the watch?"