“’Linda, dear,” said the boy, “you are all wet. Don’t shake so; nothing can hurt you. And here’s my friend the captain; he’s a soldier, you know, and fights people.” This last as a reassurance to the child that she had powerful friends indeed.
The girl looked up at the captain, looked at him for a long moment in silence. Comethup, turning about, saw that the captain had thrown back his cloak and had dropped on one knee, and was holding out his long, thin old arms toward the child; the cloak fell all about him like a tent. She scarcely seemed to hesitate a moment, but went within the shelter of the tent, and was drawn close there, with the captain’s head bent above her. Comethup was so surprised that he did not even think how the captain would be spoiling the knee of his trousers in the wet grass.
“Little maid, little maid,” said the captain, “what brings you out here in this dreadful place alone? Is there no one to care for you, poor baby?”
“I came out to see—Comethup,” said the child, getting over the name with difficulty, “and Mrs. Blissett saw me and said I should stop here in the dark, and banged the door and went in. I ’spects she’s forgotten me.”
The captain murmured something concerning Mrs. Blissett behind his heavy mustache, and suddenly gathered the child up in his arms and rose to his feet. And when he spoke, although his voice was very gentle, it was very determined.
“Where’s your father, baby?”
“He’s writing, and talking to himself,” replied the child.
“I’ll talk to him,” said the captain. “Which way do I go—round here?”
The child told him the way, and he marched steadily through the wet leaves and the long grass, with Comethup following him, until he came to a door. Still holding the child in his arms, he began vigorously to kick at the door, flinging his foot at it at regular intervals like musket-shots. A sharp and querulous voice replied suddenly from the other side: