She beckoned Frank away. “Come on! let’s hurry back to the camp before it gets dark. Mrs. Havel will be worried about us.”
“And leave Mr. Lavine here?” queried Frank.
“He couldn’t be in better hands; could he?”
“I don’t know that he could, Wyn!” cried her friend, suddenly. “What a smart girl you are!”
But Wyn would not accept that praise without qualifying it. “The accident was providential,” she declared, gravely. “And without my assistance I am sure Polly knows how to do the right thing.”
Perhaps Polly did. At least she gave much attention to their visitor, and her father could not help but see that Polly and Mr. Lavine were very good friends.
In half an hour Mr. Lavine appeared from the cottage dressed in Mr. Jarley’s best suit of clothes. He shook hands with Polly, and then suddenly drew her to him and kissed her on the forehead.
“You are a dear girl, Polly,” he declared, with some emotion. “I have to thank you for my little girl’s life; and now I am going to thank your father for mine.”
He walked straight down to the landing where Mr. Jarley was apparently very busy.
“Bill, here, says he will row you over to that camp if you care to go, Mr. Lavine,” said the boatman.