It was not until noon that I awoke, when I found that O'Brien had
covered me more than a foot deep with leaves to protect me from the
weather. I felt quite warm and comfortable; my clothes had dried on me,
but without giving me cold. "How very kind of you, O'Brien!" said I.
"Not a bit, Peter: you have hard work to go through yet, and I must take
care of you. You're but a bud, and I'm a full-blown rose." So saying, he
put the spirit-flask to his mouth, and then handed it to me. "Now,
Peter, we must make a start, for depend upon it they will scour the
country for us; but this is a large wood, and they may as well attempt
to find a needle in a bundle of hay, if we once get into the heart of
it."
"I think," said I, "that this forest is mentioned by Shakespeare, in one
of his plays."
"Very likely, Peter," replied O'Brien; "but we are at no playwork now;
and what reads amazing prettily, is no joke in reality. I've often
observed, that your writers never take the weather into consideration."
"I beg your pardon, O'Brien; in King Lear the weather was tremendous."
"Very likely; but who was the king that went out in such weather?"
"King Lear did, when he was mad."
"So he was, that's certain, Peter; but runaway prisoners have some
excuse; so now for a start."
We set off, forcing our way through the thicket, for about three hours,
O'Brien looking occasionally at his pocket compass; it then was again
nearly dark, and O'Brien proposed a halt. We made up a bed of leaves for
the night, and slept much more comfortably than we had the night before.
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