As The Rolling Stone was pushed off, Mary Brown stood upon the beach and watched the departing boat.
“Don’t you forget the letter,” she called after Chap.
“No, indeed!” shouted Chap, heartily. “You needn’t be afraid of that.”
“Goin’ to write to her?” asked Adam, with a grin.
“No, I’m not,” said Chap, his face flushing a little, “but my sister Helen is. It’ll be a piece of out-and-out charity. That poor girl never got a letter in her life.”
“How are you going to send it?” asked Phœnix. “Per alligator?”
“No,” said Chap; “per land-shark; the man who keeps the store up the river.”
The girl stood on the beach until the boat was nearly out of sight. She then took off her shoes and stockings, and walked slowly homeward.
“I wish he’d brought his sister with him,” she said to herself, as she plodded along toward the lonely house. “If I could ’a’ had jist one look at another girl ’twould ’a’ been something.”
“I hope we’ll get to that store of Cooper’s early in the afternoon,” said Adam, “for if we don’t my little bears’ll be out of milk ag’in.”