Very carefully she followed his directions, and at length the split end was tied with professional neatness. But, as his fingers tested the knot, the girl seized one of his hands and exclaimed, with solicitude, "Why, you're hurt, too, Doctor Mac!"
She indicated on one of his fingers a small jagged tear from which the blood was slowly oozing.
"How the dickens did I do that?" he demanded in surprise.
"Sliding down the ladder from the loft-room, I reckon. See, there's a piece of splinter in it still."
"Right-o, Miss Detective." He turned to the old man and remarked, "It looks as though your blood and mine had been mixing, this morning. Why not complete the ceremony and make it an adoption by blood; the way they used to do in some of the Indian tribes, you know?" he added, half jestingly, and acting on a sudden impulse. "You can take me into the clan as ... well, as your foster-son."
"Thar haint no clan nowadays, I reckon, but ef yo' wants fer ter be my foster-son I'd shor' be pleased fer ter hev ye es such, lad."
"Great. I feel like 'one of the family' already, and if you will adopt me as a new son—with all the privileges and obligations of one—I'll appreciate it, no joking."
As a pledge of their compact the city and mountain man clasped hands solemnly, while Rose stood by, delightedly smiling her benediction upon their act. "Why," she cried, "that makes me your little foster sister, Doctor Mac. Oh, I'm so glad!"
"Yes, so it does." Donald answered with a cheery voice, but no sooner were the words spoken than a sense of rebellion took possession of him. "Idiot!" he muttered, shaking off the feeling with an effort of his will.
"But haint ... aren't you going to do up your hurt finger, too?" she queried anxiously.