“And the bundle?” she suddenly exclaimed.
“Ought you to worry about such things now?” I asked. “What does it matter?”
“Matter?” she gasped.
“Yes. Do you know your waiting to get those things made us nearly caught by the Indians?”
“If it did, they saved you all from being shot by them as I was with that dreadful arrow.”
“Well—yes, they did keep off the arrows; but if you had been quicker we should not have been shot at. You shouldn’t have stopped to worry about your clothes. My father would have paid for more.”
“And me so weak and ill, Master George, and you to reproach me like that,” she said, with the tears brimming over on to her cheeks.
“Nonsense!” I said, taking her hand, to feel her cling to mine affectionately. “I was not reproaching you, and we are all safe, and nothing to mind.”
“Nothing to mind? Ah, my dear, think of what our poor house will be like when we get back.”
“I don’t think I will,” I said dryly; but she did not heed, and went on—