“Where?” echoed the poor woman, looking up and looking down.
Truly there seemed to be no place. Already six thousand British soldiers had landed and taken possession of the island. Hills and forests were not high enough nor deep enough; and now the very marsh had cast them out by its army of winged stingers—more dreadful than human foe.
“I just wish,” ejaculated the poor sunburned, mosquito-tortured, hungry girl, who stood between marsh and meadow,—“I wish I had ’em every one tied hand and foot and dumped into the sedge where we’ve been. Mother, I wouldn’t use Sleet’s milk to-night, not a drop of it,—it’s crazy milk, I know: she’s been tortured so. Poor cow! poor creature! poor, dear, nice, honest Sleet!” And Anna patted the cow with loving stroke and laid her head on its neck.
“Well, children, eat something, and then we’ll all go home together,—if they haven’t carried off our cot already,” said the mother.
They sat down under a tree and ate with the eager, wholesome appetite of children. Mrs. 143 Kull kept watch that the cow did not wander far from the place.
As they were eating, Valentine said to Anna, nodding his head in the direction of his mother: “I’ve thought of something. We must manage to send her home without us.”
“I’ve thought of something,” responded Anna. “Yes, we must manage.”
“I should like to know what you could think of, sister.”
“Should you? Why, think of saving the cow and calf, of course; though, if you’re very particular, you can leave the calf here.”
“And what will you do with the cow?”