"Can you shinny up behind me?" he demanded.
"Y—, yes, Harold."
There was something in her voice that had not been there before, a quaver that did not belong. Harky held the lantern high and turned toward her. Melinda's hat was missing, her dark hair plastered wetly against her head. Her clothes were soaking wet, her lips were blue with cold and her teeth chattered. Scratches left by the blackberry canes streaked her young cheeks.
"What in tunket happened to you?" Harky demanded.
"I fell in when we crossed the log," Melinda apologized. "I'm sorry."
"You can't climb when you're shiverin' that way," Harky said crossly. "You might fall and I don't want to carry you out of here. I'll warm you."
He unbuttoned her wet jacket, slipped it off her trembling shoulders, and at the same time opened his own coat. He drew her very near and buttoned his coat around the pair of them. A sudden electric shock coursed through him and all at once he was very pleasantly warm.
Harky put both arms around her and looked down at her upturned face. A stray star beam lighted it gently. Presently Melinda said,
"I'm warm now, Harold."
"Not warm enough," said Harky, who was astounded to discover that there was something more pleasant than looking for coons' dens. "I'll warm you some more. And call me Harky, huh?"