Flora and I consulted what it was best to do, and we finally decided that her wet clothing must be removed. I carried her into my sister's room, and laid her on a blanket. I then closed up the shutters of the outer room, replenished the fire, and left Flora to do the rest. The stove would heat the house as hot as an oven when the windows and doors were closed.
Sim was now at the steering oar, where I joined him. Except the fragments of the wreck which floated on the river, there was no vestige of the terrible calamity in sight.
"Do you think she will die?" asked Sim, looking as anxious as though the girl had been one of our own party.
"No; she is better now. She will be all right in a day or two."
"Who is she?" asked he, opening his mouth and his eyes to express his wonder.
"I don't know—how should I?"
"Didn't she tell you?"
"No—she isn't able to talk much yet. She hasn't said ten words."
"Didn't she tell you who she was?"
Sim asked silly questions, and I had not always the patience to answer him, especially when he had asked the same ones half a dozen times. I had as much curiosity as he had to know who and what the young lady was, and I was impatient to hear from Flora. As she did not call me, I was satisfied her patient was doing well. It was quite dark now, and I was walking rapidly up and down the raft, to keep myself warm, for I had had no opportunity to change my wet clothes for dry ones.