come I should be dead, shouldn't I? In glory, as my father says."

"I don't know about glory, or what it is," he remarked, after thinking
this saying over, "but you would have been rolling out to sea in the flood
water, like that buffalo, with not a whole bone in you, which isn't my
idea of glory."

"That's because your father isn't a missionary," said Rachel.

"No, he is an officer, naval officer, or at least he was, now he trades
and hunts. We are coming down from Natal. But what's your name?"

"Rachel Dove."

"Well, Rachel Dove--that's very pretty, Rachel Dove, as you would be if
you were cleaner--it is going to rain presently. Is there any place where
we can shelter here?"

"I am as clean as you are," she answered indignantly. "The river muddied
me, that's all. You can go and shelter, I will stop and let the rain wash
me."

"And die of the cold or be struck by lightning. Of course I knew you
weren't dirty really. Is there any, place?"

She nodded, mollified.

"I think I know one. Come," and she stretched out her hand.

He took it, and thus hand in hand they made their way to the highest point