“How is it now?” he answered anxiously, for she was still rubbing the towsy

golden curls which covered the back of her head.

 

“Kiss it and make it well,” she said, with perfect gravity, showing the injured

part up to him. “That’s what mother used to do. Where’s mother?”

 

“Mother’s gone. I guess you’ll see her before long.”

 

“Gone, eh!” said the little girl. “Funny, she didn’t say good-bye; she ‘most

always did if she was just goin’ over to Auntie’s for tea, and now she’s been

away three days. Say, it’s awful dry, ain’t it? Ain’t there no water, nor

nothing to eat?”

 

“No, there ain’t nothing, dearie. You’ll just need to be patient awhile, and

then you’ll be all right. Put your head up agin me like that, and then you’ll

feel bullier. It ain’t easy to talk when your lips is like leather, but I guess

I’d best let you know how the cards lie. What’s that you’ve got?”

 

“Pretty things! fine things!” cried the little girl enthusiastically, holding up

two glittering fragments of mica. “When we goes back to home I’ll give them to

brother Bob.”

 

“You’ll see prettier things than them soon,” said the man confidently. “You just

wait a bit. I was going to tell you though—you remember when we left the river?”