“Gone again! Oh! I wish someone would help me get her. I am so tired and the river is so deep and cold,” and as she stepped out from the water onto the shingle, her frame shivered as with a chill. She sat on the stump of driftwood, fatigued by exertion.
“Let’s go and talk to her,” whispered Gene.
“Youse better not. Youse can’t tell what them crazy people will do sometimes. They ack queer mighty sudden.”
“Say! She wouldn’t hurt anything. Ain’t she nice looking! I’ll bet she was kind when she was all right,” said Gene.
“Talks of golden hair. Must be her baby drowned has made her crazy,” said Spike.
“I’m going to speak to her, anyway,” and so saying, Gene boldly approached her.
“Say, lady! What are you looking for?” he asked, as he timidly stood in front of her.
“Dorothy,” she softly answered, and then slowly shifted her wistful eyes from the water to the boys.
“Whose Dorothy?” asked Spike, with an air of quiet respect, as he joined Gene and stood in front of her.
“The sweetest babe in all the world. See, in this—her likeness,” and she drew from the bosom of her dress a medallion and held it for the boys to look at.