The boys redoubled their efforts at resuscitation, and presently a faint colour appeared in the little girl's marble cheeks, and the cold lips slightly moved.
Lucas put his head down. "What you sayin'? Dog, is it? He's all right. If you'd wrapped yourself more, an' him less, it might 'a' bin better. Yet, I guess not. If it hadn't 'a' bin for the dog, you'd 'a' bin dead. Put on her shoes, boys. We'll carry her to that heap o' logs of ours."
"Pop, will one of us have to show her out?" said Joe, anxiously pressing beside him.
"Yep," said his father. "Here, strip off your coat an' put it round her."
"An' I s'pose I'll hev to go 'cause I'm the youngest," said the boy, bitterly.
"No, sir—you're always doin' dirty work. This time it'll be Zebedee."
Zebedee frowned, and muttered that he wished girls would stay out o' the woods; then he tramped on beside his brother.
"Here, gimme my gun," said Lucas, presently. "You-uns is younger. You kin carry the gal."
He had been carrying 'Tilda Jane over his shoulder, and now the little procession started again, this time with the boys bearing the semi-unconscious burden.
Gippie, squealing and complaining, followed behind as well as he was able, but finally, becoming stuck in a drift, gave a despairing yell and disappeared.