There was a great scene of excitement and jubilation, and little Rosalie, who had hitherto preserved the silence of an Indian baby, now began to sob as she nestled in her mother’s arms.
“He fin’ her!” cried Larue, indicating Carl. “I have been crazy. Can’t guess where she go. I search everywhere—up, down the river, in ze woods, in ze smoke—can’t fin’ notting. T’ink she dead, sure. But Mr. Harman fin’ her, and cross ze marais on ze snow-shoes, by gar! Greatest t’ing I ever see!”
“You’re a hero, Carl,” said Bob, laughing.
Larue seemed to be divided between joy and gratitude at the rescue of the child, and admiration at Carl’s feat of crossing the slough on snow-shoes. His wife’s protestations of gratitude were most profuse, embarrassing Carl terribly.
“It really wasn’t anything,” he stammered. “Really I found her by accident. But how did she ever get lost?”
Both Larue and his wife volubly attempted to explain, mixing the matter up badly. It seemed that the family had been alarmed about the middle of the night by the approach of the fire, and had moved out in haste. In the darkness and confusion Rosalie had somehow vanished. They had searched and called. Larue, who was very fond of his children, and of this one in particular, was like a madman. After establishing his wife and the other child in safety, he searched the shore up and down the river and went into the woods, without finding any trace of the little girl. On the river he had met Bob and Alice, who told him that Carl had gone ashore, and the two boats had rowed up and down on the lookout, firing signals at intervals with Larue’s gun.
Rosalie herself could give no coherent account of how she had strayed away or where she had been. She knew only that she had found herself in the darkness and the woods, had been terribly frightened and was waiting for papa to come for her.
CHAPTER XI
A GOOD SUMMER’S WORK
It had continued to rain, and it was coming down hard by this time, a cold, driving rain from the north, that would check the forest fire if it lasted long enough. Larue’s camp was a miserable place, and far from water-tight.
“We must ask them to come home with us,” Alice whispered to Bob. “We can’t let the poor wretches stay here in the rain.”