“Shall we pull through, Seth?” she asked.
“Can’t say, Rosie.”
The man’s reply was spoken slowly.
“Poor auntie!” Rosebud went on. “I can’t help thinking of her. I wish I’d never said anything about ’scalping’ to her. But she’s very good and brave. She hasn’t complained, and she’s worked as hard as anybody. Do you know, I believe, now she’s got over the first shock of it, she rather enjoys it. What do you think she said to me half an hour ago? She said, with such a smile, ‘When I get home I shall have something to tell them. I’m keeping a diary.’ Like a fool I said, ‘You aren’t home yet, auntie.’ I said it without thinking. What do you suppose she replied?”
“Can’t guess.”
“Oh, I’ll get home all right. Mr. Seth ’ll see to that.”
But Seth was impervious to the compliment. The girl smilingly watched his sombre face out of the 299 corners of her eyes. There was no responsive smile.
“It’s jest them things make it hard,” he said, with something very like a sigh.
Rosebud’s face had become serious. Her thoughts were hard at work.
“Is it as bad as that?” she asked presently.