“Hello! Here I am,” called David.
“Thought you were lost. This route has got the N. M. & Q. frapped to suds. I’ve got a half-nelson on a friendly sapling and Swickey has deserted me, and it’s mud from here to China.”
Swickey turned back and laughingly helped Bascomb to the trail again. “It’s your own fault—you will say things whenever I help you.”
“That’s me,” he replied, squeezing her hand. “It’s my nature to be gracious, you know.”
“Well, here we are, on the old trail again,” she said, as they came up to David.
They walked along in single file until the trail widened near the river, across which they could see the lighted windows of the camp.
“Father’s home,” said Swickey. “I wonder how Jim Cameron is? Pop’s been to see him—Jim has been sick.”
“Yes. Your father told me,” said David. “Pneumonia, isn’t it?”
“Yes; I hope he is better. Pop went down to tell Jim you were here. He said Jim would get well right away when he heard Mr. Bascomb was with you.”
“There, Davy! Talk about ‘angels with healing in their wings.’ I feel so sanctimonious it hurts.”