half his allowance of water and pour the other half upon the dry roots.
"If you can keep alive on that, your tree should also," Humphrey said; "there is no other way to do."
Still muttering protests that his tree would die, the old man crawled away. Humphrey stood looking silently at the little pine tree, so fresh and vigorous in spite of its hundred years. He took the water that had been set upon his table and drank half of it at one gulp, for he had just come below and the hot quarterdeck was a thirsty place. Then he paused a moment, the half-empty cup in his hand.
"I am a soft-hearted fool," he muttered and poured what was left on the dry earth of the porcelain pot.
The days passed while the men grew weaker and more sluggish at their work, but still the breeze held and the speed of the West Wind did not falter. They passed no ship from which they could obtain water, their only hope lay in the making of port. They turned northward, lost the trade winds, seemed for a terrible moment to be hanging becalmed, but a stiff breeze caught them and bore them still toward home. The old Chinaman seemed to shrivel away like a dead leaf, but he came stumbling every day to share his mouthful of water with his precious tree. Captain Reynolds himself looked more worn and
