“Do you know, I should not be surprised if that is the sledge which the police were after,” said Grace, with that swift putting of two and two together which was so characteristic of her. “I expect that somehow in the heavy weather the sledges must have got mixed, and the man that was here—Edgar Bradgate, I mean—hitched his horses to the wrong sledge at some stopping-place.”
“But such a blunder would hardly be made by any man who had any sense at all,” replied Bertha. “Why, he would see the difference in the sledge robes and the fittings generally. I told you that those were really beautiful sledge robes; they were lined throughout with wolf-skin, and were as warm as could be. I felt myself in the lap of luxury all the way to Pentland Broads this morning, only I couldn’t enjoy it because of my worry about you. I wondered then that a mere freight sledge should be so well turned out.”
“I fancy that the blunder was made because, poor fellow, his sense was so far gone. He looked to me like a person who was in for a very sharp attack of influenza, and as a rule people in that condition are not very discriminating,” said Grace.
“Well, at least our part is done, and we are out of it, which is something to be grateful for,” said Bertha, and then she had to hurry off to the barn and put in an hour and a half of work there, which should have been done much earlier, but for the enforced journey and all the other delays which had eaten into her day so far. She was most dreadfully tired, having had but so little sleep on the previous night; but there was so much work to do, that she had no time to give way to her feelings, until night came round again and ended the long day of toil.
But it was destined that she should have one more surprise before she went to sleep that night, only this was a wholly joyful one.
She had been in the farther bedroom, putting the twins and Noll to bed, when she heard a squeal of amazement from Molly, with a shout of “Mummy! Mummy!” from Dicky, and, thinking that something must have gone wrong, she ran back to the kitchen, and there, to her amazement, was Grace sitting erect on her couch, holding fast to the edge of the little bookshelf, by which she had contrived to pull herself erect.
“Bertha! Bertha! Look at me!” cried Grace, in an ecstasy of joy. “I did it myself, all myself; the children did not help me at all. And oh, I am so proud of it!”
“And so am I. Why, it is just splendid, and at this rate you may be able to stand on your feet by the time that Tom comes back,” said Bertha, as she hastened to put a pillow behind Grace, which would allow her to sit without holding on to the shelf.
“It is lovely to survey the world from such a giddy height after having been on my back all these months,” said Grace, and then her voice grew wistful as she went on, “I wonder where poor dear old Tom is to-night, and whether there is any instinct to tell him that I am so much better?”
“He may be home soon now, unless indeed they have a camp, which they cannot leave until the snow breaks,” said Bertha. “But it is pretty certain that they cannot do much prospecting of any sort or kind in this weather.”