Perhaps it was the kindly look of the handsome young scout master—then again his voice may have influenced the frightened girl; or the fact that those in the open doorway were mostly boys might have had considerable to do with it. Then again that magical word "doctor" must have thrilled her through and through.
The gun fell to the floor, and the relieved girl burst into a flood of tears.
"It's dad!" she cried, moving a hand toward the rude cot behind her; and as the eyes of the boys flitted thither again, they saw a bearded and very sick looking man trying to raise himself up on his elbow.
Mr. Garrabrant immediately went toward him, uttering reassuring words, that no doubt did much to relieve the alarm of the occupant of the rude bed. Wisely had the long-headed scout master caused one of the boys to carry some food along, not knowing what necessity might arise. He saw that hunger was holding sway in this lone cabin as well as sickness. And while Red started the fire to going, Ty Collins proceeded to unwrap the package of meat and bread, as well as the coffee and tea he had "toted" all the way from camp.
Mr. Garrabrant with a few questions learned the simple story. The man was a charcoal burner in the summer season, while he pursued the arduous labor of a lumberman in the winter. A few months before his wife had suddenly died, leaving him with these two small but very independent children.
Abe Morris, his name was, while the boy carried that of Felix; and whenever the cabin dweller spoke of the girl it was always as "Little Lou." He had hated to leave the retired home where he had spent so many pleasant years, and near which his wife was buried. And so he had managed to get along, with the girl cooking his meals and playing the part of housekeeper wonderfully well; while even Felix could do his stunt of gathering firewood and looking after a few simple traps in which he caught muskrats.
When the boys heard that this small edition of a lad had been able to actually outwit the shrewd animals of the marsh, they looked at each other in dismay, as though wondering whether he might not have a better right to the title of scout that any among them.
Things had gone fairly well with the widower until a week back, when an accident had brought him almost to death's door. Managing to drag himself home, he had swooned from loss of blood. Since that time he had suffered tortures, more of the mind than of the body, since he dreaded the thought of what would become of his children should death claim him.
They had done wonderfully well. When Dr. Ted got busy, he praised the simple but clever work of that eight-year-old girl, in binding up such a severe wound. Perhaps Little Lou may have learned how to do this from the mother who was gone, or it might be it came just natural to her. When children live away from the world, and are forced to depend upon themselves for everything, it is amazing how they can do things that would puzzle those twice their age, when pampered in comfortable homes. Necessity forces them to reach out and attempt things, just as she teaches the child to use its limbs, and utter sounds.
Once they realized that these were kind friends who had come so opportunely to their rescue, Felix and Little Lou found their voices, and proved that they could talk, as Lil Artha put it, "a blue streak."