ead, and the tears came into my eyes.

"Come, Davy," he said, "ye're so little, and I beant hungry."

Again I shook my head, and for the life of me I could say nothing.

"I reckon Polly Ann'd never forgive me if anything was to happen to you,"
said he.

At that I grew strangely angry.

"It's you who need it," I cried, "it's you that has to do the work. And
she told me to take care of you."

The big fellow grinned sheepishly, as was his wont.

"'Tis only a bite," he pleaded, "'twouldn't only make me hungry,
and"--he looked hard at me--"and it might be the savin' of you. Ye'll
not eat it for Polly Ann's sake?" he asked coaxingly.

"'Twould not be serving her," I answered indignantly.

"Ye're an obstinate little deevil!" he cried, and, dropping the morsel on
the freshly cut stump, he stalked away. I ran after him, crying out, but
he leaped on the raft that was already in the stream and began to pole
across. I slipped the piece into my own hunting shirt.

All day the men who were too weak to swing axes sat listless on the bank,
watching in vain for some sight of the Willing. They saw a canoe
rounding the bend instead, with a single occupant paddling madly. And
who should this be but Captain Willing's own brother, escaped from the
fort, where he had been a prisoner. He told us that a man named
Maisonville, with a party of Indians, was in pursuit of him, and the next
piece of news he had was in the way of raising our despair a little.
Governor Hamilton's astonishment at seeing this force here and now would
be as great as his own. Governor Hamilton had said, indeed, that only a
navy could take Vincennes this year. Unfortunately, Mr. Willing brought
no food. Next in order came five Frenchmen, trapped by our scouts, nor
had they any provisions. But as long as I live I shall never forget how
Tom McChesney returned at nightfall, the hero of the hour. He had shot a
deer; and never did wolves pick an animal cleaner. They pressed on me a
choice piece of it, these great-hearted men who were willing to go hungry
for the sake of a child, and when I refused it they would have forced it
down my throat. Swein Poulsson, he that once hid under the bed, deserves
a special tablet to his memory. He was for giving me all he had, though
his little eyes were unnaturally bright and the red had left his cheeks
now.

"He haf no belly, only a leedle on his backbone!" he cried.

"Begob, thin, he has the backbone," said Terence.

"I have