“Mr. Selborne—carried me.”
Her father turned and clasped the young man’s hand, saying simply, “I thank you.” But each of the men knew the already strong friendship between them was deepened.
“Now for getting home,” called out Rossiter. “Too bad to leave the fire, though, isn’t it?”
“You can spend the night here if you like,” laughed Bess, rising painfully and clinging to her father’s arm.
It was clear that she could not walk a step.
The fire was cared for; then the two sturdy young backwoodsmen made an arm-chair with their hands and wrists, and tramped off with Bess between them as easily as if she were a kitten.
Very slowly though, and with great skill and care, feeling the ground carefully with their feet at every step. So they made their way back to the hotel, where there was a general jubilee over their return.
The train was side-tracked that night, close by the station. It was great fun for the young people to climb aboard, and, after a good-night sing, clamber into their berths to be lulled to sleep, not by the rumble of iron wheels, but the rushing waters of the Illicilliwaet.
Bessie, it should be said, was carried to the cars by her father. There was a physician in the party, and by his advice the strained ankle received such wise and timely treatment that by bed-time it was far less painful. In two or three days, the doctor said, she could use it again, though care would be necessary for a fortnight or more.