“It did?”

“It did!” repeated Tommy, stoutly; “a green hat with yellow ribbons—­and—­and—­a red rosette.”

“I didn’t get to see the ros-ette,” said Johnson, with slow and conscientious deliberation, yet with an evident sense of relief; “but that ain’t sayin’ it warn’t there, you know.  Eh?”

Tommy glanced quietly at his companion.  There were great beads of perspiration on his ashen-gray forehead and on the ends of his lank hair; the hand which twitched spasmodically in his was cold and clammy, the other, which was free, had a vague, purposeless, jerky activity, as if attached to some deranged mechanism.  Without any apparent concern in these phenomena, Tommy halted, and, seating himself on a log, motioned his companion to a place beside him.  Johnson obeyed without a word.  Slight as was the act, perhaps no other incident of their singular companionship indicated as completely the dominance of this careless, half-effeminate, but self-possessed boy over this doggedly self-willed, abnormally excited man.

“It ain’t the square thing,” said Johnson, after a pause, with a laugh that was neither mirthful nor musical, and frightened away a lizard that had been regarding the pair with breathless suspense,—­“it ain’t the square thing for jackass rabbits to wear hats, Tommy,—­is it, eh?”

“Well,” said Tommy, with unmoved composure, “sometimes they do and sometimes they don’t.  Animals are mighty queer.”  And here Tommy went off in an animated, but, I regret to say, utterly untruthful and untrustworthy account of the habits of California fauna, until he was interrupted by Johnson.

“And snakes, eh, Tommy?” said the man, with an abstracted air, gazing intently on the ground before him.

“And snakes,” said Tommy; “but they don’t bite, at least not that kind you see.  There!—­don’t move, Uncle Ben, don’t move; they’re gone now.  And it’s about time you took your dose.”

Johnson had hurriedly risen as if to leap upon the log, but Tommy had as quickly caught his arm with one hand while he drew a bottle from his pocket with the other.  Johnson paused, and eyed the bottle.  “Ef you say so, my boy,” he faltered, as his fingers closed nervously around it; “say ‘when,’ then.”  He raised the bottle to his lips and took a long draught, the boy regarding him critically.  “When,” said Tommy, suddenly.  Johnson started, flushed, and returned the bottle quickly.  But the color that had risen to his cheek stayed there, his eye grew less restless, and as they moved away again, the hand that rested on Tommy’s shoulder was steadier.