"Not as I don't know that it isn't some sort of a creature caught in a trap," he added. "They do cry, some of 'em, wonderful like a child."
"But that is Miss Mittie's voice! Slade, can't you hear? She is sobbing and calling for help."
Slade's doubts were silenced. There could soon be no hesitation as to the nature of those wailing cries, and the very words became distinguishable. "Mother, mother! O Marjory, do come!" But no mention of "cousin Hermione!" A few hours earlier Hermione might not have noticed the omission. She did now, with a sharp pang.
"Hallo! That's the brute!" exclaimed Slade, with exultation over his own foresight, as a great creature retired promptly before the blaze of his lamp. He had not breath for much more. Hermione led at a run.
"The bull! Is it, really? Then you were right. Slade, come quickly. He will not touch us—and just hear that poor child! Mittie! Mittie! we are coming!" she cried cheerily, and her voice rang far ahead.
"Marjory! Marjory!" was the answering appeal. Poor little Mittie could hardly picture such an event as cousin Hermione coming to the rescue.
Half a minute more, and the wall was reached. Slade swung up his lantern. "She's on the—top—" he panted. "I'll get her—down."
"O Marjory! that dreadful dreadful bull!" wailed Mittie. "Slade, hold me tight; don't let him come! I'm so frightened, and so cold! O Marjory—"
But Hermione's arms, not Marjory's, received the little shivering figure lifted to the ground by Slade, folding her round in a protecting embrace, and Hermione's voice, not Marjory's, said pityingly, "Poor darling! No, he shall not hurt you—he shall not touch you, Mittie dear! you are quite safe now. Don't be frightened! Don't sob so! Slade, she is so terribly cold; I don't think she can stand! What can we do? Oh, there is this!" and she drew off a small shawl which she had thrown about her own shoulders, putting it round Mittie. "Poor little thing! but don't cry, darling. Try to walk, because it will warm you."
"Is it cousin Hermione?" came with an amazed gasp, and then Mittie put up her face. "I'll try—try not to cry. I don't want—want to be naughty. But oh, don't let the bull come!"