“I won’t go, Nada,” he cried, trying to laugh.  “I promise—­cross my heart and hope to die!  I won’t go—­until you tell me I can.”

And then, feeling that something had almost gone wrong for a moment, Peter yipped from his nest in the bunk, and the gladness in Nada’s eyes thanked Jolly Roger for his promise when he came back with the coffee pot.  Standing behind her, he made pretense of refilling her cup, though she had scarcely touched it, and all the time his eyes were looking at her beautiful head, and he saw again the dampness in her hair.

“What happened in the creek, Nada?” he asked.

She told him, and at the mention of his name Peter drew his bristling little head erect, and waited expectantly.  He could see Jolly Roger’s face, now staring and a bit shocked, and then with a quick smile flashing over it; and when Nada had finished, Jolly Roger leaned a little toward her in the lampglow, and said,

“You’ve got to promise me something, Nada.  If Jed Hawkins ever hits you again, or pulls your hair, or even threatens to do it—­ will you tell me?” Nada hesitated.

“If you don’t—­I’ll take back my promise, and won’t stay,” he added.

“Then—­I’ll promise,” she said.  “If he does it, I’ll tell you.  But I ain’t—­I mean I am not afraid, except for Peter.  Jed Hawkins will sure kill him if I take him back, Mister Roger.  Will you keep him here?  And—­o-o-o-h!—­if I could only stay, too—­”

The words came from her in a frightened breath, and in an instant a flood of color rushed like fire into her cheeks.  But Jolly Roger turned again to the stove, and made as if he had not seen the blush or heard her last words, so that the shame of her embarrassment was gone as quickly as it had come.

“Yes, I’ll keep Peter,” he said over his shoulder.  And in his heart another voice which she could not hear, was crying, “And I’d give my life if I could keep you!”

Devouring his bits of partridge breast, Peter watched Jolly Roger and Nada out of the corner of his eye as they left the cabin half an hour later.  It was dark when they went, and Jolly Roger closed only the mosquito-screen, leaving the door wide open, and Peter could hear their footsteps disappearing slowly into the deep gloom of the forest.  It was a little before moonrise, and under the spruce and cedar and thick balsam the world was like a black pit.  It was very still, and except for the soft tread of their own feet and the musical ripple of water in the creek there was scarcely a sound in this first hour of the night.  In Jolly Roger there rose something of exultation, for Nada’s warm little hand lay in his as he guided her through the darkness, and her fingers had clasped themselves tightly round his thumb.  She was very close to him when he paused to make sure of the unseen trail, so close that her cheek rested against his arm, and—­bending a little—­his lips touched the soft ripples of her hair.  But he could not see her in the gloom, and his heart pounded fiercely all the way to the ford.