Won't
it be jolly?"
Five minutes later they were plunging through a field of partly grown
wheat, in what she averred to be the direction of the Higgins home. It
was not good walking, but they were young and strong and very much
interested in one another and the adventure.
"Hello, what's this? A river?" he cried, as the swish of running waters
came to his ears.
"Oh; isn't it dreadful? I forgot this creek was here, and there is no
bridge nearer than a mile. What shall we do? See there is a light in
Higgins's house over there. Isn't it disgusting? I could sit down and
cry," she wailed. In the distance a dog was heard barking fiercely, but
they did not recognize the voice of Swallow. A new trouble confronted
them.
[Illustration: "HE WAS SPLASHING THROUGH THE SHALLOW BROOK"]
"Don't do that," he said resignedly. "Remember how Eliza crossed the ice
with the bloodhounds in full trail. Do you know how deep and wide the
creek is?"
"It's a tiny bit of a thing, but it's wet," she said ruefully.
"I'll carry you over." And a moment later he was splashing through the
shallow brook, holding the lithe, warm figure of his client high above
the water.
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