The girl laughed happily.
“Have you escaped it here, Jim?” She shook her head. “But I don’t worry so I have you. You’re mine. You’re my husband,” she went on softly. “God gave you to me, an’ whatever you are, or do, why I guess I’d rather have you than any good angel man who lived on tea and pie-talk. Please God you’ll quit the drink someday. You can’t go on trying like you do without making good in the end. But even if you didn’t—well, you’re just mine anyway.”
Jim smiled tenderly into his wife’s up-turned face. And he stooped and kissed the pretty, ready lips. And somehow half his trouble seemed to vanish with the thought of the beautiful mother heart that would so soon be called upon to exercise its natural functions. This frail, warm-hearted, courageous creature was his staunch rock of support. And her simple inspiriting philosophy was the hope which always urged him on.
“That’s fine, my dear,” he said. “You’re the best in the world, but you can’t conjure furs so we can keep this darn old ship afloat. But it don’t do to think that way. We’ll jest think of that baby of ours that’s comin’ an’ do our best, an’—Say!” He broke off pointing through the doorway and beyond the gateway of the great stockade in the direction of the river. “Ther’s Marty comin’ along up from the river—and—he’s in one hell of a hurry.”
The girl turned at once, her gaze following the pointing finger. The great figure of the missionary was hastily approaching. The sight of his hurry was sufficiently unusual to impress them both.
“I didn’t know he’d got back.” Hesther’s tone was thoughtful.
Jim shook his head.
“He wasn’t due back for two weeks.”
“Is there—? Do you think—?”
“I guess ther’s something worrying sure. He don’t—”