“Oh!” Agnes started up, the color dying out of her face. Then she sat down again, and, burying her face on her father’s shoulder, she burst into tears.
“There, there, child, don’t greet so,” said Polly. “I suppose his mother is as fond of him as you are, even if she is Hump Muirhead’s wife.”
“She is very fond of him; so is the father, Dod Hunter told me,” Parker went on to say. “They have been nearly distracted at the loss of the child. It seems the old stump was one in which the boy was often placed when his father was at work; he was fond of taking him out with him, and the little rascal must have run off and climbed into the stump himself one day when his father was away. Perhaps he fell asleep waiting for his father to come, and meantime the stream rose and loosened the stump, so off it sailed. It is a miracle that it didn’t overturn and drown the boy. At all events, it’s Muirhead’s boy, and I shall restore him to his parents to-morrow bright and early, or rather, I’ll take him as far as Dod Hunter’s, and he will see that he gets home all right.”
“I’m sorry to part with the little chap,” said Polly, “but I know what the feelin’s of that mother must be. It’s a wonder we did not find out before who he belonged to.”
“Muirhead doesn’t come over this side of the river very often, and since the freshet most of the people over there have been kept away by the high water and the bad roads. They never doubted but the child was drowned, Dod says. I saw Jerry, Polly. He sent his respects to you, and his congratulations upon Jimmy’s return.”
Polly laughed a little consciously. She knew quite well that the fact of Jimmy’s return was rather a blow to Jerry.
Agnes had dried her tears and gone over to the trundle-bed where the row of rosy children were sleeping. Honey was her little cousin, and they were going to take him from her. His father was her enemy, and she could not hope to see the child again. She sat watching the little sleeper, feeling very sorrowful at the prospect of the morrow’s parting.
All at once Jimmy gave his knee a sounding slap. “I have it,” he cried. “What a dunderhead I am! To be sure, I know the name o’ Muirhead. Who better? I hope I’ve not lost it,” he muttered. Slipping his great hand inside his hunting-shirt, he added, as he drew forth a packet, “An’ I hope it’s not sp’ilt by the wettin’ I got.” He slowly fumbled with the thongs which tied the wrapping of deerskin. Polly watched him curiously, and Parker drew near, hardly less curious. Having satisfied himself that the contents of the packet were uninjured, Jimmy turned to Parker. “This Muirhead,” he said, “what might his first name be?”
“Humphrey. They call him Hump Muirhead about here.”
Jimmy nodded assent. “That’s straight. Father of the young un?”