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.

Even then it was thought of Peter that filled her brain. Somehow she
was not afraid. She was not terrified, as she had often been of the
flood-rush of waters that smashed down the creeks in springtime. An
inundating roar was over her, under her, and all about her; it beat in
a hissing thunder against the drums of her ears, yet it did not frighten
her as she had sometimes been frightened. Even in that black chaos which
was swiftly suffocating the life from her, unspoken words of cheer for
Peter formed in her heart, and she