one beside it. I'm a Grimm. I mean it."

Then he bared his gray head, settled himself firmly in his saddle,
called to his man: "Come on!" and rode as gallantly to the rescue as if
his seventy winters had been no more than seventeen.

All this time where was Molly?

When she found that Anton had disappeared from that open spot in the
forest she was at first terrified then comforted.

"Why, I reckon this must be mighty near that camp, after all. It's 'most
clear of the little trees and bushes, like some of the farm-groves that
anybody can play in and not be scared or--or get their dresses torn.
Queenie, you and I can rest a few minutes. Somehow I'm dreadful tired. I
rode such a lot all morning and now away out here after that Anton. He's
mean. He surely is dreadful ornery. When I see him again I'll just hold
my head mighty high and take no notice. Indians aren't much better than
negroes, I reckon. Anyhow he isn't half so nice. Catch one of our black
'boys' treating 'little missy' so! You hungry, too, Queenie? Well,
you're luckier than I for you can get your dinner off the ground. Go
ahead and nibble it. I'll wait for you;" she said, talking to the sorrel
as if she were human and could understand, and slipping from her saddle
to the ground.

After a moment's contemplation of the lovely place, where a little
stream ran trickling and babbling over stones, and where the ferns were
high as her head, looking to her like miniature trees themselves, she
began to feel almost contented. Open places between the pines let the
sunlight through and, where it fell, the wild roses which creep
everywhere over that fair land had forced themselves into a home and
bloomed away most bravely. Then she espied a scarlet patch of color
underneath and found that they were the wild strawberries she loved so
well. She cried, scrambling after these:

"Ah! Queenie! You're not the only one can get something to eat away out
here in the woods. I suppose that's the kind of stream Papa fishes for
trout. If I had a line and a hook and--and whatever I needed I could
fish, too. But I wouldn't. I never would like to kill anything, though a
trout that somebody else had killed would make a mighty nice dinner
right now."

The berries were plenty, and "enough" of anything is "as good as a
feast." At least they satisfied her immediate hunger as the water from
the brook, caught in a little cup made of a big leaf, satisfied her
thirst. Queenie slaked her own