She now began to moan and talk, but not in a way that could be understood. At length her words were connected, but it was evident that she was delirious.
Oh! Walt. Do come and save your little Amy—River—big raft—pa-pa—drowned—hold her Rolla, hold her!
Thus she continued to rave for a few minutes, and then fell into a sweet, natural sleep.
In about half an hour her eyes opened, and she raised up and gazed about her in astonishment.
Where is mother? Where am I? Where is Rolla?
Rolla heard her, and bounded on the bed. Amy threw her arms about his neck.
Good Rolla! she exclaimed; Save mother—pull her out of the water—drag her on the raft!
Drake put out his hand, as if in the act of pulling the dog away.
No, no, boy, let the dog alone. That is nature’s own medicine. That is more soothing than a canoe-load of the white man’s pills. The girl requires quiet. Let the dog caress her.