At last Tolly raised his head and voice.
“Betty,” said he, “what a lucky thing it was that we fell in wi’ Tom Brixton, and that you were able to give him somethin’ to eat.”
“Yes, thank God,” replied the girl, fervently.
“He’d have died but for you,” said the boy.
“And you, Tolly,” added Betty.
“Well, yes, I did have a finger in the pie,” returned the boy, with a self-satisfied air; “but I say, Betty,” he added, becoming suddenly serious, “what d’ye think o’ what that rascally chief said about takin’ you to his wigwam? You know that means he intends to make you his wife.”
“Yes, I know; but God will deliver me,” answered the girl.
“How d’ye know that?”
“Because I put my trust in Him.”
“Oh! but,” returned the boy, with a slight look of surprise, “unless God works a miracle I don’t see how He can deliver us from the Redskins, and you know He doesn’t work miracles nowadays.”