His voice was husky and unnatural, but she knew it in her sleep. Her eyes unclosed slowly upon his face, and widened as she saw Major Duncombe and Mr. Tayloe behind him. Still dreaming, she smiled slowly and lifted her hand to wave it. It was all a part of the examination day. She was still "playing ladies."
"You do me too much honor, I assure you, sir," she murmured.
She had not been bitten by the moccasin. But for the necessity of ascertaining this, she would not have been told what danger she had escaped. Short work was made with explanations, and no time was lost in hurrying her from the place. Major Duncombe lifted her with his own hands to her seat in front of her father upon his broad-backed horse, and insisted upon sending one of the torch-bearers all the way home with them. Flea was wrapped to her heels in a shawl that had been put into the gig by Mrs. Duncombe's order. It was soft and fluffy and thick, and the folds felt like a caress to her chilled limbs. Her father's arm held her close to his breast; her head lay against his strong shoulder—how strong and safe she had never guessed until now.
Flea never forgot that ride and her awed enjoyment of each feature of it. Her father's silence did not surprise her. He was never talkative, and assured by his gentleness at the moment of her awakening, and the clasp of his arm about her now, that he was not displeased, she was glad to lean back in his embrace and indulge the fancies born of the night's event. She was almost sorry when the dogs ran before them as they neared the house, and the clamor of the welcome they received from the dogs who had staid at home drew out Chaney and Dick from the kitchen, and was the signal for the opening of the front door. It was full of heads, seen blackly against the lighted interior, and Mrs. Grigsby's high-pitched voice rang out, shrilly: "Got her, 'ain't you, pa?"
"Ay, ay! all's right!" he answered.
Carrying the muffled form in his arms, he walked up the path leading from the yard gate, into the house, and set her down before the chamber fire as he might a roll of carpet.
"Don't you look too funny!" laughed Bea, as Flea began to disengage herself. "Lor'! if you 'ain't got on Mrs. Duncombe's winter shawl!"
"An' trouble enough she has given, I'll be boun'!" scolded the mother, heedless of her husband's gravity and silence. "I should 'a' thought yer pa would 'a' left you at Greenfiel' 'tel mawnin'."
"Peace, wife," interposed Mr. Grigsby, sternly. "All of you come in here and be still."
They trooped into the chamber, Chaney, Dick, and the Greenfield negro bringing up the rear, all curiosity and expectation, subdued by his tone and action. For he had taken a well-worn Prayer-book from the mantel shelf, and was turning the leaves while he spoke. Finding what he sought there, he put out his arm to draw Flea to his side, and knelt with her in the middle of the room.