He slipped in the middle of the brook and nearly fell
with her. Allie squealed. The sound filled Neale with glee. After
all, and whatever she had gone through, she was feminine--she was a
girl--she was squeamish. Thereupon he slipped purposely and made a
heroic effort to save himself. She clasped his neck convulsively
with her free arm, and as he recovered his balance her head bumped
into his and her hair got into his eyes. He laughed. This was great
fun. But it could scarcely have been the exertion that made his
heart beat out of time. At last he gained the opposite bank.
"You nearly fell with me," she said.
"Well, I'd have got wet, too," he replied, wondering if it were
possible to make her laugh or even smile. If he could do that to-
day, even in the smallest degree, he would be assured that happiness
might come back to her.
Soon they met Larry, who came stooping along, burdened with a deer
carcass on his shoulder. Relieving himself, he hailed them.
"How air you-all?" he drawled, addressing himself mostly to Allie.
"What's your name?" she asked.
"Allie, he's my friend and partner," replied Neale. "Larry King. But
I call him Red--for obvious reasons."
"Wal, Miss Allie, I reckon no tall kick would be a-comin' if you was
to call me Red," drawled Larry.
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