dying easier, both for Peter and for her, for in this first glad
spring of her existence the stranger in the forest shack had
brought sunshine and hope and new dreams into her life; and they
had set him up, she and Peter, as they would have set up a god on
a shrine.

So she ran for the fording place on Sucker Creek, which was a good
half mile above the shack in which the stranger was living. She
was staggering, and short of wind, when she came to the ford, and
when she saw the whirl and rush of water ahead of her she
remembered what Jolly Roger had said about the flooding of the
creek, and her eyes widened. Then she looked down at Peter,
piteously limp and still in her arms, and she drew a quick breath
and made up her mind. She knew that at this shallow place the
water could not be more than up to her waist, even at the flood-
tide. But it was running like a mill-race.

She put her lips down to Peter's fuzzy little face, and held them
there for a moment, and kissed him.

"We'll make it, Peter," she whispered. "We ain't afraid, are we,
baby? We'll make it--sure--sure--we'll make it--"

She set out bravely, and the current swished about her ankles, to
her knees, to her hips. And then, suddenly, unseen hands under the
water seemed to rouse themselves, and she felt them pulling and
tugging at her as the water deepened to her waist. In another
moment she was fighting, fighting to hold her feet, struggling to
keep the forces from driving her downstream. And then came the
supreme moment, close to the shore for which she was striving. She