William had hitherto not spoken a word. “Papa, may I take her up the medicine and food?” he said, and big tears rolled down his cheeks.
“Yes, William, you may,” was the answer.
Dr Morgan and his children had got outside the hut, and were on their way down the steep side of the mountain, when they heard a cheery shout behind them. Turning round, Anna instantly sprang up the hill, and in another moment was in the arms of a young gentleman who was running down to meet them.
“It is Frank! It is Frank!” burst from the lips of the rest.
“Why, father! Charley! who would have thought it?” cried the young stranger, warmly greeting them; “and Willie, and Mabel, and Arthur! What big people they have become! I little expected to have found you so soon; and you were in that poor old woman’s hut, too! Well, that is curious! The truth is, I am lost, or rather I couldn’t find you. I mislaid Charley’s letter, and though I thought I knew the name of the place, I found, when I got into the country, that I hadn’t the slightest notion of what it was; and after wandering about for a couple of days, I determined to write to old Evans, at Bangor, and to await his answer at the inn on the other side of the mountain.”
“Then, Frank, you are the young gentleman who saved Old Moggy’s life,” said Anna. “How delightful!”
“Oh, did I? I merely threw my jacket over the poor creature’s legs, and put out the fire which had caught her clothes and would have burnt her,” answered the midshipman. “I am very glad I was of use, though it’s not a thing to be proud of. It was very fortunate, however, for me, for I don’t know how otherwise I should have found you. There is one thing I should like to do, and that is to thrash the heartless young monkeys who threw stones at the poor woman. If I can find them I will.”
William looked down, overwhelmed with shame, and almost wished that Frank would thrash him.
“Then what brought you back to the hut, my boy?” asked the Doctor.
“Oh, to look after the poor old woman,” said Frank, “I understood from the nurse—Jenny Davis she told me was her name—that she has no friends, and so I thought it was but right and proper to come back and see how she was getting on. I dropped a bundle with some old shirts and other things in at the window; but seeing some people there, not dreaming that they were all of you, I of course wouldn’t go in. I waited, expecting you soon to go away, and fortunately I made you out, or I should have gone back to my inn, and not known that I had been close to you.”