“I’d rather you wouldn’t promise,” she said. “We’ll get out someway, of course, and if it wasn’t for this provoking foot——”
“Isn’t it better?”
“Oh, yes—better. But, of course, I can’t bear my weight on it. It’s so tiresome.”
She seemed on the point of tears, and while he was trying to think of something to say to console her, she reached for her crutch and bravely rose.
“I’m not going to cry. I abominate whining women. Give me something to do, and I won’t trouble you with tears.”
“You’re plucky, that’s certain,” he said admiringly. “The lunch must be cooked. We’ll save the squirrels for supper. I’m going to work on your house. I’m afraid there’s no tea—no real tea, but we might try arbor-vitæ. They say its palatable.”
She insisted on cleaning the fish and preparing the meal while he sat beside her and began sewing two rolls of thick birch-bark together with white spruce-roots. Between whiles she watched him with interest.
“I never heard of sewing a roof before,” she said with a smile.
“It’s either sewing the roof or reaping the whirlwind,” he laughed. “It may not rain before we get out of here, but I think it’s best not to take any chances. The woods are not friendly when they’re wet. Besides, I’d rather not have any doctor’s bills.”
“That’s not likely here,” she laughed. “And the lunch is ready,” she announced.