“I'm glad you've told me. I think a heap more of him now. There must be a pile of good in any one you like, Loo. Anyhow he's lucky.” And he stroked her crumpled dress awkwardly, but with an infinite tenderness.
“I've got to go now, father,” she exclaimed, suddenly remembering the time. “But there!”—and again she threw her arms round his neck and kissed him. “You've made me very happy. I've got to go right off, and you've all the chores to do, so I mustn't keep you any longer.”
She hurried to the road along which Jake would have to come with the news of the fight. When she reached the top of the bluff whence the road fell rapidly to the creek, no one was in sight. She sat down and gave herself up to joyous anticipations.
“What would George say to her news? Where should they be married?”—a myriad questions agitated her. But a glance down the slope from time to time checked her pleasure. At last she saw her brother running towards her. He had taken off his boots and stockings; they were slung round his neck, and his bare feet pattered along in the thick, white dust of the prairie track. His haste made his sister's heart beat in gasps of fear. Down the hill she sped, and met him on the bridge.
“Wall?” she asked quietly, but the colour had left her cheeks, and Jake was not to be deceived so easily.
“Wall what?” he answered defiantly, trying to get breath. “I hain't said nothin.”
“Oh, you mean boy!” she cried indignantly. “I'll never help you again when father wants to whip you—never! Tell me this minute what happened. Is he hurt?”
“Is who hurt?” asked her brother, glorying in superiority of knowledge, and the power to tease with impunity.
“Tell me right off,” she said, taking him by the collar in her exasperation, “or—”
“I'll tell you nothin' till you leave go of me,” was the sullen reply. But then the overmastering impulse ran away with him, and he broke out: