She laughed again and the captain and Bos'n joined in the laugh, in spite of the fright they both had experienced.
“That book was dry enough to frighten almost anything,” continued the lady. “It was one I took from the table before I left the place where I'm staying, and a duller collection of sermons I never saw. Oh, dear! . . . there! Is my hat any more respectable now?”
“Yes'm. It's about on an even keel, I should say. But I must tell you, ma'am, you done simply great and—”
“Seems to me the people who own that cow must be a poor set to let her make such a nuisance of herself. Did your daughter run away from you?”
“Well, you see, ma'am, she ain't really my daughter. Bos'n here—that's my nickname for her, ma'am—she and I was out walkin'. I set down in the pines and I guess I must have dozed off. Anyhow, when I woke up she was gone, and the first thing I knew of this scrape was hearin' her hail.”
The little woman's manner changed. Her gray eyes flashed indignantly.
“You dozed off?” she repeated. “With a little girl in your charge, and in the very next lot to that cow? Didn't you know the creature chased women and girls?”
“Why, yes; I'd heard of it, but—”
“It wasn't Uncle Cyrus's fault,” put in Bos'n eagerly. “It was mine. I went away by myself.”
Beyond shifting her gaze to the child the lady paid no attention to this remark.