With a Single Swift Motion She Lifted Little Peace Into the Saddle
"And to think, Jack dear," Frieda murmured, still tearful half an hour afterwards although Peace was safe in bed, "that I sometimes have criticized you for keeping on with your riding when you might be doing such stupid indoor things as Jean and Olive and I enjoy. Had you been one of us, why, Peace might have been killed or worse this afternoon. I never saw any one do anything so quickly or so skilfully, Jack, as you lifted little Peace out of danger. Why, I—I had forgotten that you used to be able long ago to lean from your horse and pick up anything you wished from the ground. One would not have supposed that such an accomplishment could be so valuable as actually to save my baby's life. Say you forgive me for being so hateful about that other thing for the past ten days."
Jack's arm was about her sister as they walked up and down before the house waiting for Professor Russell's return from the small hut situated about a mile away where he spent the greater part of each day engaged in scientific investigations.
"But, Frieda dear, I was to blame and I am sorry," Jack replied. "Jim has not forgiven me yet. I was to blame this afternoon too, for I should not have ridden up to the house so swiftly when I knew the children were playing near. But I grew suddenly lonely for you and Olive and Jean and left Jimmie and Jeannette with Jim and rode quickly home to find you. Here comes your husband, I'll leave you and go home to the lodge. No, I don't want any one to come with me and I won't see you again this evening. Good-night."