He wiped his brow with a ragged sleeve and went to where a water-bucket
stood behind the door, knelt beside it, drinking deeply, gratefully, yet
listening the while for unwonted sounds and watching the bend of the
carriage road. His thirst appeased, he hunted vainly through the table
drawer for balls and powder for the empty pistol at his hip; then,
instinctively alert to some rustling sound outside, he crouched toward
the adjoining room, slipped in, and softly closed the door.

From the sunlit world beyond the cabin walls rose the murmur of a
childish song and Virgie came pattering in.

She had not changed greatly in stature in the past few months, but there
was a very noticeable decrease in the girth of her little arms and body,
and her big dark eyes seemed the larger for the whiteness of her face.
On her head she wore an old calico bonnet several sizes too large and
the gingham dress which scarcely reached to her bare, brown knees would
not have done, a few months ago, for even Sally Ann. In one hand Virgie
carried a small tin bucket filled with berries; in the other she
clutched a doll lovingly against her breast.

Not the old Susan Jemima, but a new Susan Jemima on whom an equal
affection was being lavished even though she was strangely and
wonderfully made. To the intimate view of the unimaginative, Susan
Jemima was formed from the limb of a cedar tree, the forking branches
being her arms and legs, her costume consisting of a piece of rag tied
at the waist with a bit of string.

On a chair at the table Virgie set her doll, then laughed at the
hopelessness of its breakfasting with any degree of comfort, or of ease.