“Mary will never, never go there again,” said the child. “The river is all muddy and wet—it aint a nice river at all!”
Harry was given a shift of clothing belonging to Andrew Pembly, and this he put on while his own were drying at the fire. Fortunately neither the youth nor the little girl suffered from the wetting received.
“I shall never forget your kindness,” said Mrs. Pembly. And she never did.
It was no easy work to bring the nine logs together and float them down to the fort, and it was after dark when the task was finally accomplished.
The news of the rescue had preceded them, and Harry was hailed as a hero, something that made him blush a good deal.
“I reckon I only did my duty,” he said. “It wasn’t much either. I could have gotten to shore easily if she hadn’t caught me by the neck and cut off my wind.”
“You’re a hero right enough,” said Darry. “And Joe deserves some credit, too.”
The time for planting was once again at hand, and Joe and Harry worked early and late, and always with their weapons where they could lay hands upon the guns at the first intimation of danger. How little do boys of to-day realize the perils and hardships of the years gone by!
In the cabin Mrs. Parsons and the girls were equally busy. All arose at four o’clock in the morning, and it was rarely that anybody turned in to sleep before nine or ten in the evening. In those days there were no such things as amusements, for the dread of another attack by the Indians was on every mind. Every Sunday a service was held at the fort by a traveling preacher, who had come there some months before, and this service was the only gathering Mrs. Parsons and the girls attended.
On the Fourth of July—just one year after the Declaration of Independence had been declared—Joe and Harry were hard at work in the field, when a horseman, his steed covered with foam, dashed up to the cabin.