Johnson fixed him with his disconcerting eye, and retorted witheringly––
“Ye thinks ye knows a pile about women, Bird 126 Pigeon. But the kind ye knows about ain’t the kind Rosy-Lilly’s agoin’ to be!”
Nearly a week went by before Rosy-Lilly saw another chance to assail McWha’s forbidding defences. This time she made what her innocent heart conceived to be a tremendous bid for the bad-tempered woodsman’s favour. Incidentally, too, she revealed a secret which the Boss and Walley Johnson had been guarding with guilty solicitude ever since her coming to the camp.
It chanced that the Boss and Johnson together were kept away from camp one night till next morning, laying out a new “landing” over on Fork’s Brook. When it came time for Rosy-Lilly to be put to bed, the honour fell, as a matter of course, to Jimmy Brackett. Rosy-Lilly went with him willingly enough, but not till after a moment of hesitation, in which her eyes wandered involuntarily to the broad, red face of McWha behind its cloud of smoke.
As a nursemaid, Jimmy Brackett flattered himself that he was a success––till the moment came when Rosy-Lilly was to be tucked into her bunk. Then she stood and eyed him with solemn question.
“What’s wrong, me honey-bug?” asked Brackett, anxiously.
“You hain’t heard me my prayers!” replied Rosy-Lilly, with a touch of severity in her voice.
“Eh? What’s that?” stammered Brackett, startled quite out of his wonted composure. 127
“Don’t you know little girls has to say their prayers afore they goes to bed?” she demanded.
“No!” admitted Brackett, truthfully, wondering how he was going to get out of the unexpected situation.