and led me for the last mile or two by another towel --
one end fastened to his belt behind, and the other in my hand
as I walked in his tracks. And oh! but this was a relief!
It was out of the dust and glare, and the flies didn't come into the dark hut,
and I could hump and stick my knees in my eyes and groan in comfort.
I didn't want a thousand a year, or anything; I only wanted relief for my eyes
-- that was all I prayed for in this world. When the sun got down a bit,
Mitchell started poking round, and presently he found amongst the rubbish
a dirty-looking medicine bottle, corked tight; when he rubbed the dirt
off a piece of notepaper that was pasted on, he saw "eye-water" written on it.
He drew the cork with his teeth, smelt the water, stuck his little finger in,
turned the bottle upside down, tasted the top of his finger,
and reckoned the stuff was all right.

"Here! Wake up, Joe!" he shouted. "Here's a bottle of tears."

"A bottler wot?" I groaned.

"Eye-water," said Mitchell.

"Are you sure it's all right?" I didn't want to be poisoned
or have my eyes burnt out by mistake; perhaps some burning acid
had got into that bottle, or the label had been put on, or left on,
in mistake or carelessness.

"I dunno," said Mitchell, "but there's no harm in tryin'."

I chanced it. I lay down on my back in a bunk, and Mitchell
dragged my lids up and spilt half a bottle of eye-water over my eye-balls.