“No, he’s caught! Ah, he is clear of that. Now! Oh! will he make it? See, how carefully he sounds as he goes! Now what is he doing? I see, he is making his boat fast to the top of that tree so it can’t get away. Now—why, Polly, he’s throwing a line! Good lad! See, the man has caught it! I was afraid it would get tangled in the stump. What do you see?” For Polly had made a sudden exclamation.
“I’m no so sure, but I thought I saw the man there take something from that snarl of stumps. Could it be some wee bit animal?”
“Could it be a little child? Oh, Polly, could it?”
The two were now so excited that they could scarcely wait events, but there was nothing to do but to watch, and finally they rejoiced to see the raft slowly turned toward the boat in which Parker steadied himself, holding on to the branch of a tree which protruded from the water. It was a risky business, for all around surged the swift waters, flinging broken branches of trees, loose boards, and stumps in their way. But once out of the swift current they could hope to land safely. Crossing the run was no easy matter, for the tops of the trees along its submerged bank were continually menacing them, and at every moment it seemed likely that they would be upset. Breathlessly the two women watched, and finally, by the combined skill of the two men, the boat was safely piloted across to dry land. Then the two clasped each other’s hands in sign of relief to their overstrained feelings.
“It is a child they are carrying,” said Polly, “and the man’s head is as bald as my hand; not a hair on it. Come, let’s hurry in, Nancy, and have some hot water ready, for the child must be perished.” Agnes followed her into the house, and was bustling about making ready some warm food when she heard an exclamation of joy and amazement.
Then the door flew open, and she turned to see Polly fling herself into the arms of the bald-headed man, crying: “It’s me own Jimmy, and him with not a spear on his head, and nearly drownded before me eyes! Ah, Jimmy, Jimmy, me true lad! Ah, I knew ye’d never lave me foriver. I’ve mourned for ye, lad! Ah, Jimmy, Jimmy!” and she burst into a flood of tears. And Jimmy, with one arm around Polly, half ready to cry himself, was rubbing his bald head and looking around in a maze.
“Take this little fellow,” said Parker to Agnes; “he’s half dead with cold and fright, poor little chap. Let those two have it out, and we’ll look after the boy.”
Agnes took the little fellow in her arms; he was a pretty, chubby child, between two and three years of age; he had been crying forlornly, but at the sight of a bowl of warm mush and milk his tears ceased.
Polly had gathered her own brood about her, and they were shrilly calling, “Daddy, daddy!” while Polly herself had not taken her eyes off Jimmy’s face. “It’s me own lad, me own lad,” she crooned, rocking herself back and forth. “An’ where’s yer hair, Jimmy dear? An’ you with such a fine crop. An’ how did ye git here, an’ are ye hungry?”
“Hungry I am,” was the response, “as anybody’d be who’d not tasted bite nor sup since yesterday. I’d a little parched corn, but it gave out yesterday. Faith! I was not travellin’ heavy handed, an’ Polly, lass, lest I’d be burdened with too much to carry, I left me hair behind me.” He gave a chuckle and took the bowl which Agnes handed him, eating as a famished man would.