Neither Stanley nor Billie spoke as she stared from one to the other in slow surprise, taking in the interior of the tent, and Stanley's dripping clothing, and then she said, the most comical thing at such a time:
"Billie, did I lose the crabapples, or haven't I gotten them yet?"
"So that's what you were after," Billie cried wrathfully, "poking up the river by yourself in that beastly little boat that turns over if you look at it, and you can swim about as well as a tree-toad. If it hadn't been for Stan here, you'd be absolutely drowned dead by now."
The color stole back into Kit's face. Perhaps if he had sympathized with her, she might have broken down, but as it was, she looked up into Stanley's eyes almost appealingly.
"I'm awfully sorry," she began, but Stanley stopped her with a laugh, as he rolled her up tighter in another blanket.
"I'm the doctor here, now," he said, "and you'll have to mind. I guess if I carry you, we can get you home somehow. The sooner you're in bed, the better."
Mrs. Robbins and the girls were just coming along the road when they beheld the startling procession coming up from the river bank, Stanley carrying the blanketed figure and Billie bringing up the rear. Not the buoyant, carefree Billie they were accustomed to see, a dejected, rather limp-looking figure, with his eyes still full of horror.
"Why, mother," Jean exclaimed, "some one's been hurt." But it seemed as though by some mysterious telepathy of love the news had already flashed on Mrs. Robbins' mind, and she hurried down the road to meet them.
"She's all right," called Stanley, cheerily. "Just took a dip in the river, Mrs. Robbins. If you'll go ahead, please, and get a bed ready, I'll bring her up."
Kit's eyes were closed. He had told her to put her arms around his neck so that he could carry her easier up the hill. Just as they got to the veranda steps he said, under his breath: