“We won’t tell mother nothin’ about the wolves to-night, sweetie, eh? It ’ld jest git her all worked 106 up, an’ she couldn’t stand it when she’s sick. We won’t say nothin’ about that till to-morrow!”
“Yes!” murmured Lidey, “she’d be awful scairt!”
They were then about halfway up the slope, when from the cabin came a frightened cry of “Lidey! Lidey!” The door was flung open, the lamplight streamed out in futile contest with the moonlight, and Mrs. Patton appeared. Her face was white with fear. As she saw Dave and the little one hurrying towards her, both hands went to her heart in the extremity of her relief, and she sank back into a chair before the door.
Dave kicked off his snow-shoes with a dexterous twist, stepped inside, slammed the door, and with a laugh and a kiss deposited Lidey in her mother’s lap.
“She jest run down to meet me!” explained Dave, truthfully but deceptively.
“Oh, girlie, how you frightened me!” cried the woman, divided between tears and smiles. “I woke up, Dave, an’ found her gone; an’ bein’ kind o’ bewildered, I couldn’t understand it!”
She clung to his hand, while he looked tenderly down into her face.
“Poor little woman!” he murmured, “you’ve had a bad turn ag’in, Lidey tells me. Better now, eh?”
“I’m plumb all right ag’in, Dave, now you’re 107 back,” she answered, squeezing his hand hard. “But land’s sakes, Dave, how ever did you git all that blood on your pants?”
“Oh,” said the man, lightly, “that’s nothin.’ Tell you about it bime-by. I’m jest starvin’ now. Let’s have supper quick, and then give old Mr. Sandy Claus a chance. Tomorrow we’re going to have the greatest Christmas ever was, us three!”