The Sun Maid laughed, just as merrily and infectiously as when she had first crept for shelter into Mercy Smith’s cabin.
“Maybe not. I’m not the judge. I’ll test my wisdom, though, by trying to help you out of that mud. I’ll be back in a moment.”
She turned to run toward the house, but Mercy remonstrated:
“You can’t help in them fine clothes. Ain’t there no men around?”
“A few. Most of them are out of the village on a big hunting frolic. We’ll manage without.”
“Humph! They’d better be huntin’ Indians.”
The girl looked up anxiously. “Is there any trouble?”
“Always trouble where the red-skins are.”
Kitty departed, and the settler’s wife watched her with feelings of mingled admiration, anger, and astonishment.