"Myn Hemel! Myn Hemel! I thought it not so soon," and the fat
Dutchman followed the child. A moment later he reappeared, his
jolly face clouded with a look of grave concern. "Hi yo big
Injun, yo cahn paddle canoe?" Quonab nodded. "Den coom.
Annette, pring Tomas und Hendrik." So the father carried
two-year-old Hendrik, while the Indian carried six-year-old
Tomas, and twelve-year-old Annette followed in vague,
uncomprehended alarm. Arrived at the shore the children were
placed in the canoe, and then the difficulties came fully to the
father's mind -- he could not leave his wife. He must send the
children with the messenger -- In a sort of desperation, "Cahn
you dem childen take to de house across de lake, and pring back
Mrs. Callan? Tell her Marta Van Trumper need her right now mooch
very kvick." The Indian nodded. Then the father hesitated, but
a glance at the Indian was enough. Something said, "He is safe,"
and in spite of sundry wails from the little ones left with a
dark stranger, he pushed off the canoe: "Yo take care for my
babies," and turned his brimming eyes away.
The farmhouse was only two miles off, and the evening calm; no
time was lost: what woman will not instantly drop all work and
all interests, to come to the help of another in the trial time
of motherhood?
Within an hour the neighbour's wife was holding hands with the
mother of the banished tow-heads.
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