“Don’t grieve like that! The child is safe. It is here in my arms.”
“What? Safe! safe!”
The mother was up, and had caught the little one from him before the words had left her lips, and the passion of her rejoicing brought the tears to the man’s eyes as her sorrow had not done.
After a moment, she was able to speak clearly and to demand his story. Then she gave hers.
“I was here alone. My husband had gone hunting, and I went into the barn to seek for eggs. The loft was dark——”
“Spare yourself. I can guess. The Indians.”
“The Indians? No, indeed. Myself. My own carelessness. I carried a candle, and dropped it. The hay caught. I barely escaped from having my clothing burned on me; but I did. Then I forgot everything except my terrible loss and my husband’s anger when he returns. I began to fight the fire. I remember my little one crying with fright, but I paid no attention, and when at length I realized that it was too late for me to save our stock I stopped to look for him. Fortunately, the cabin was too far from the barn to catch easily, and there was a wind blowing the other way. That’s all that saved the home; yet, when I missed my baby, I wished that it would burn, too, and me with it. Life without him would be a living death. And he would have died, any way. The wolves are awful troublesome this spring. We’ve lost more than twenty of our hogs and the only pair of sheep we had. So husband joined a party and went out to hunt them. What will he say, what will he say, when he comes back!”
In Gaspar’s heart there sprang up a great happiness. The ill which had happened here was so much less than he had anticipated that he took courage for himself. After all, the Sun Maid might be safe, as Abel had declared she said she should be. He remembered, at last, that not all men are evil, even red ones; and in the reaction of his own feelings, he exclaimed:
“What can he say, but give thanks that no worse befell him!”