ningly
with him through the deep aisles of the forest. But before he died,
before his heart stopped beating in her arms, she wanted to reach Jolly
Roger's friendly cabin, in the big swamp beyond the creek. It was not
that he could save Peter, but something told her that Jolly Roger's
presence would make Peter's dying easier, both for Peter and for her,
for in this first glad spring of her existence the stranger in the
forest shack had brought sunshine and hope and new dreams into her
life; and they had set him up, she and Peter, as they would have set up
a god on a shrine.

So she ran for the fording place on Sucker Creek, which was a good half
mile above the shack in which the stranger was living. She was
staggering, and short of wind, when she came to the ford, and when she
saw the whirl and rush of water ahead of her she remembered what Jolly
Roger had said about the flooding of the creek, and her eyes widened.
Then she looked down at Peter, piteously limp and still in her arms,
and she drew a quick breath and made up her mind. She knew that at this
shallow place the water could not be more than up to her waist, even at
the flood-tide. But it was running like a mill-race.

She put her lips down to Peter's fuzzy little face, and held them there
for a moment, and kissed him.

"We'll make it, Peter," she whispered. "We ain't afraid, are we, baby?
We'll make it--sure--sure--we'll make it--"

She set out bravely, and the current swished about her ankles, to her
knees, to her hips. And then, suddenly, unseen hands under the water
seemed to rouse themselves, and she felt them pulling and tugging at
her as the water deepened to her waist. In another moment she was
fighting, fighting to hold her feet, struggling to keep the forces from
driving her downstream. And then came the supreme moment, close to the
shore for which she was striving. She felt herself giving away, and she
cried out brokenly for Peter not to be afraid. And then something drove
pitilessly against her body, and she flung out one arm, holding Peter
close with the other--and caught hold of a bit of stub that protruded
like a handle from the black and slippery log the flood-water had
brought down upon her.

"We're all right, Peter," she cried, even in that moment when she knew
she had lost. "We're all ri--"

And then suddenly the bright glory of her head went down, and with her
went Peter, still held to her breast under the sweeping rush of the
flood.