“No, they won’t hurt her, and we must take care of ourselves while we can. Don’t stand up, for they can see you.”
“Father, will you leave me?” came again in heart-rending tones.
“Don’t be scart, young ’un,” called out Seth; “keep up a good heart. I’ll git you agin ef you behave yourself. I will, as sure as I am Seth Jones. Just keep up pluck, little one.” The last words were shouted loudly, for the boat was fast gliding into the stream.
The mother had heard all, and said nothing. She comprehended it, and with a groan sank back upon a seat. Mary’s eyes flashed like a tigress at bay; and she did not cease to cast looks of indignation at Seth, for leaving the child to her horrid fate so coolly. But she said nothing—was as quiet and pale as a statue. Seth eyed her like a lynx; his eyeballs seemed like fire. But he was as cool as if at his ease perfectly; and he quickly made all feel that he was born for such appalling emergencies.
They were now within the center of the stream, and moving quite rapidly. The darkness was so great that the shores were now vailed from sight. And with hearts in as deep a gloom the fugitives floated downward.
CHAPTER IV.
THE LOST HOME AND A FOUND FRIEND.
It was on the morning of the day which we have just seen close. As will be remembered the air was clear and the day one of the most beautiful and pleasant of the year. The air was perfectly still, and had that peculiar, bracing sharpness, which is only felt when it is in a perfect state of rest. It was such a morning as would make every healthy person feel that to merely live was pleasure.