It was a joyful though awkward meeting. Much water could not quench the love wherewith the poor creature strained Michel to her heart. Winklemann came up in time to rescue both, and dragged them to the door-step of the floating hut, the door of which he burst open with a single kick, and sprang in.
Who shall attempt to describe the meeting that followed? We ask the question because we feel unequal to the task. There issued from the hut a roll of German gutturals. Winklemann, rushing through two feet of water, seized his mother’s hand and fell on his knees beside her. He was thus, of course, submerged to the waist; but he recked not—not he! Michel and old Liz entered, dripping like water-nymphs, and sat down on the soppy bed. Daddy, impressed with the idea that a good practical joke was being enacted, smiled benignantly like a guardian angel.
“Now den, zee night draws on. Ve must be gone,” said Winklemann, turning to Rollin; “git zee canoes ready—qveek!”
Both canoes were soon got ready; blankets and pillows were spread in the centre of each. Mrs Winklemann was lifted carefully into one; Daddy, as carefully, into the other. Old Liz quietly took her seat in the bow of Daddy’s canoe; her son sat down in the stern, while Herr Winklemann took charge of that which contained his mother.
“No room to take any of de property to-night, ma mère,” said Michel.
“Hoots! niver heed,” replied Liz.
“No, I vill not heed. Moreover, Veenklemann and moi ve vill retoorn demorrow.”
As he spoke he chanced to look up and saw the apron which had guided him to the spot waving gently at the tree-top. In a few seconds he was beside it. Cutting the staff free, he descended and stuck it in the bow of his canoe as a trophy. Thus they paddled away from the old home.
It was night when they reached the camp of the settlers on the Little Mountain. The homeless people were busy with their evening meal, and, sad though their case was, the aspect of things just then did not convey the idea of distress. The weather was fine; camp-fires blazed cheerfully lighting up bronzed and swarthy men, comely women, and healthy children, with a ruddy glow, while merry laughter now and then rose above the general hum, for children care little for unfelt distress, and grown people easily forget it in present comfort. Ruined though they were, many of them felt only the warmth of the hour.
There was a shout of welcome when Winklemann’s canoe was observed emerging from surrounding darkness, and a cheer burst from those who first heard the glad news—“The old folk saved!” But that was a mere chirp to the roar of congratulation that rang out when the little party landed, and the rescuers strode into camp bearing the rescued in their arms.