felt my weariness.

But gradually it grew upon me; my pace lagged slower and slower--even
the scented air of the midsummer-night imparted no freshness. John
wound his young arm, strong and firm as iron, round my waist, and we
got on awhile in that way.

"Keep up, Phineas. There's a hayrick near. I'll wrap you in my
coat, and you shall rest there: an hour or two will not matter now--
we shall get home by daybreak."

I feebly assented; but it seemed to me that we never should get home-
-at least I never should. For a short way more, I dragged myself--or
rather, was dragged--along; then the stars, the shadowy fields, and
the winding, white high-road mingled and faded from me. I lost all
consciousness.

When I came to myself I was lying by a tiny brook at the roadside, my
head resting on John's knees. He was bathing my forehead: I could
not see him, but I heard his smothered moan.

"David, don't mind. I shall be well directly."

"Oh! Phineas--Phineas; I thought I had killed you."

He said no more; but I fancied that under cover of the night he
yielded to what his manhood might have been ashamed of--yet need not-
-a few tears.

I tried to rise. There was a faint streak in the east. "Why, it is