“She was a big, heavy child, and I set off with her on my knees to ride to Pembroke—one of the little girls handed her up to me when I was in the saddle—and I got across the river; but the horse fidgeted, and I got down to shift the saddle, for I thought it was hurting it, and then I could not mount again with the sick child in my arms. Evening was drawing on, and there was seventeen miles to go through bog and creek, and I carried her every step of the way, and the horse dragging on the bridle, for it wanted to get back. I thought she was dying when I got to Russell’s Flat—they wanted me to stop, but I cried to go on, and they brought me a cup of tea; but I was too wild to drink it, and kept begging them to hurry—so they put a horse in the buggy, and drove me the rest of the way.
“The doctor looked very grave, and said I must leave the child for a week with him; but I had to stay and nurse her, and all the time I was thinking the other three would be drowned or the house burnt before Macpherson would get back, for I got word sent to him to go home. She got well in a week’s time. Everyone was good to us in Pembroke; if it hadn’t been for my worrying, I could have enjoyed it. Mr. Ross drove us all the way home, and when I got back the place was clean and tidy, and the scones baking on the fire, and the children well. I was a thankful woman that night!”
We had finished tea, and, while she talked, Mrs.
