The girl took the child
and scrambled up the bank again; by the time she was at the top,
Injun Pete was beside her.
"She not hurt, Little missy," said the man, in his soft voice,
and turning his face so that Nan should not see it. "She just
scared."
Margaret would not even cry. She was too plucky for that. When
she got her breath she croaked:
"Put me down, Nan Sherwood. I ain't no baby."
"But you're a very wet child," said Nan, laughing, yet on the
verge of tears herself. "You might have been drowned, you WOULD
have been had it not been for Mr. Indian Pete."
"Ugh!" whispered Margaret. "I seen him when I come up out o'
that nasty water. I wanted to go down again."
"Hush, Margaret!" cried Nan, sternly. "You must thank him."
The man was just then moving away. He shook himself like a dog
coming out of the stream, and paid no further attention to his
own wet condition.
"Wait, please!" Nan called after him.
"She all right now," said the Indian.
"But Margaret wants to thank you, don't you, Margaret?"
"Much obleeged," said the little girl, bashfully. "You air all
right, you air."
"That all right, that all right," said the man, hurriedly. "No
need to thank me."
"Yes, there is," said Nan, insistently.
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