Steve straightened his shoulders and laughed.
“I’m fit as a trout,” he said jauntily; “nothing wrong with me. And there’s Miss Ess there—Scottie’s niece. It might be better if you took her than let her go to the hotel. Where’s Scottie?”
“Off riding up and down the east bank in case you were carried in higher up,” said Mrs. Dan. “Steve—is it the girl?”
“It’s the girl we went to look for,” he said, pretending to misunderstand her. “Miss Ess—Scottie’s niece.”
But Mrs. Dan laughed in his face and darted to her husband. “Dan, come an’ help,” she said hurriedly. “We must take the girl with us. Back me up now, and if we don’t get her, I’ll never forgive you—never.”
“Niver’s a long word, mavourneen,” he said. “But come on an’ we’ll try.”
“She’s coming with us,” said Mrs. Dan to the ones who were helping Ess up the bank. “We’ll care for her till her uncle comes.”
Ess, a little confused by all this bother and welcome, looked at her. “It’s very good of you all,” she faltered. “Couldn’t I go—isn’t there an hotel?”
“Ye can’t,” said Dan, promptly. “What am I to be after tellin’ your uncle when he comes back, if I let ye go to a hotel? We’ve got everythin’ ready, an’ your uncle will be comin’ straight there to look for you.”
Mrs. Dan slipped a hand under her arm. “You don’t know me, my dear, but that doesn’t count these days. I know your uncle, and I’d like you to come. And I’m a friend of Steve’s.” She said the last words in the girl’s ear, and at the hint of colour that drained in her pale face and the soft “Very well—I’ll come,” Mrs. Dan was flushed with a sense of coming victory.