Hannah Peniman looked at her husband over the head that was buried on her breast. The past few months had drawn lines in the comely face, had silvered the shining brown hair with threads of grey, and left deep shadows in the sweet blue eyes.
"She doesn't know—she doesn't understand, the poor lamb," she said tremulously.
"Oh, yes, I do know, yes I do understand," sobbed the child. "I know that my papa and mama are dead and that I am left all alone in the world—I have no one who loves or cares for me—and now you are going to send me away—leave me all alone at a Mission—and I'll die—I'll just die——"
Her voice had risen into a loud sobbing wail, and the children in the other wagon heard it. In a twinkling Joe, Lige and Ruth were running back to them.
"Mother—what's the matter with Princess—I heard her crying," panted Ruth, scrambling into the wagon.
"They're going to leave me—leave me—at the M-M-Mission," sobbed Princess. "They're tired of me—they don't love me—and they're going to send me back h-h-home!"
Joe sprang into the wagon, his face looking strangely pale and set.
"Leave her at a Mission? Father—what does she mean?"
His father explained, as gently as he could, omitting, for the sake of the little girl, the danger that threatened them on her account, and which seemed to be so relentlessly following her.
The child had thrown herself into Joe's arms, and he listened with his arms clasped about her.