thirst at the same pool and was so quiet
and content that she greatly helped to cheer her small companion.

Finally Molly remembered a maxim she had once taught Dorothy:

"When you're lost, stay right still in that spot till somebody comes and
finds you." Not always the safest judgment, it may be, but consoling
then to this small girl.

Then she continued to converse with the sorrel mare; assuring that calm
creature:

"That boy went away out of here, some place, and to go home again he'll
have to come away back. That's plain enough. Now, you and I are real
safe, Queenie, really perfectly safe; if some them mooses or caribous,
or deers, or--or things--Let's not think about them, Queenie. Let's just
wait. Let's--let's take a nap if we can, to make the time pass
till--till Anton comes."

She wished she hadn't happened to think of any "wild beasts" just then
and she was astonished to see Queenie take her advice so literally; for
down upon that mossy ground dropped the sorrel, did its utmost to work
the saddle off its back, and, failing in this, stretched itself on its
side and did go to sleep.

Then for a time Molly busied herself in gathering flowers, wherever she
caught sight of one, and, thrusting them into her blouse, told Queenie
that "these are for that terrible flowery girl, Dorothy C. Oh! I wonder
what she is doing now! If she isn't scraping away on that old fiddle
I'll bet she's missing me. 'Tisn't polite for girls to 'bet,' Auntie Lu
says. Oh! I wish I could see her now. Funny I should be so lonesome,
right in the daylight with Queenie here. If I don't look out I'll be
crying; for I'm getting that awful scared way I was when Anton first
went. I'll lie down too on that pile of ferns and go to sleep--if I
can. I hope there aren't any wigglers of any sort to get into my ears.
I'll put my handkerchief over them and my face on that. Let's play
pretend it's bedtime, Queenie. Good night."

There was no response from the weary old horse who had jogged about
nearly all that day and Molly waited for none. A merciful drowsiness
stole upon her and when she woke again the night was really there.
Through the scattered tree-tops she could see the stars shining; close
at her feet was the same gentle purring of the little stream, and
overhead the soft rustle of pine needles moving lightly in the breeze.
But what had wakened her? Something had, she knew. Some sound other than
that of the brook or the pines. Queenie too, had