"I got mixed up with a log," he explained to Mamie. "It bruk loose, an' I didn't quite get outer the way. See?"
"Me, too," whispered Mamie. "Same trouble here--'zactly."
Twice while he lay upon his back she brought to the bunk-house a chocolate layer cake and some broth. Upon the occasion of her third visit she came empty-handed, with her too pale eyes full of tears, and her heart full of indignation.
"I ain't got nothing," she muttered. "Tom says it's his grub."
"That's all right," replied Dennis, noting that she walked stiffly. "But, look ye here; he ain't been wallopin' ye, has he?"
"Yes, he has. When he was through I tole him I'd sooner have his blows than his kisses any day."
"I hadn't oughter hev come here," said Dennis.
"Never saw the sun shine till you did," murmured Mamie.
At this he tried to take her hand, but she evaded his grasp. Then, with an extraordinary dignity, looking deep into the man's eyes, she said slowly: "I tole you that because it's God's truth, and sorter justifies your comin'; but I aim ter be an honest woman, and you must help me to remain so."
With that she flitted away.