“Is the ankle any better? I think I’d better be getting you up to the fire now. Perhaps, you’d be willing to cook the fish while I hustle for twigs.”
“Of—of course.”
He noticed the catch in her voice, and when he came near her discovered that she was trembling from head to foot.
“Are you suffering still?” he questioned anxiously.
“N-no, not so much. But I—I’m very cold.”
“That’s too bad. We’ll have you all right in a minute. Put your arms around my neck. So.” And bending over, with care for her injured foot, he lifted her again in his arms and carried her up the hill. This time she yielded without a word, nor did she speak until he had put her down on his coat before the fire.
“I don’t know how—to thank you—” she began.
“Then don’t. Put your foot out toward the blaze and rub it again. You’re not so cold now, are you?”
“No—no. I think it’s just n-nervousness that makes me shiver,” she sighed softly. “I never knew what a fire meant before. It’s awfully good—the w-warmth of it.”