Kitty sprang up and ran to welcome him, the heartiest of love in her clear tones.
“Why, bless my soul! If I thought it could be, I should say it was my own lost little Kit!”
As he gazed his rugged face grew beautiful in its wondering joy.
“Oh, Abel! That’s the way Chicago receives her new citizens! She plants them so deep in the mud that they can’t get away! But wait. I’ll help you out the same way I did Mercy, and then I’ll get my arms about your neck, you dear old Abel!”
“Help me out? Not much! Not when there’s such a pretty girl a few feet away waitin’ to kiss my homely face!” and, with a spring that was marvellous to see, the woodsman leaped from his horse and landed on the higher sod beside his “Kit.”
“Well, well! To think it! Just to think it once! Well, well, well! How big you are, Kit! My, my, my; and as sweet to look at as a locust tree in bloom, with your white frock, an’ all. I’ve got here at last! I can’t scarce believe it. And, lassie, are you as close-mouthed as you used to be when you made a promise? Then—don’t tell Mercy; but—I done it a-purpose!”
“Did what? Let us get the poor horse out of the mud before we talk.”
“Shucks! He ain’t worth pullin’ out. If he ain’t horse enough to help himself, let him stay there a spell, an’ think it over. He’ll flounder round——”
“You don’t know our mud, Abel.”