I did not come very quickly, because I had to
go for the canoe and travel here.
"How do you mean by canoe?" said Rolf, in surprise.
You are only half a mile from Jesup River," was the reply. "I
soon bring you home."
It was incredible at first, but easy of proof. With the hatchet
they made a couple of serviceable crutches and set out together.
In twenty minutes they were afloat in the canoe; in an hour they
were safely home again.
And Rolf pondered it not a little. At the very moment of blackest
despair, the way had opened, and it had been so simple, so natural,
so effectual. Surely, as long as he lived, he would remember it?
"There is always a way, and the stout heart will find it."
Chapter 50. Marketing the Fur
If Rolf had been at home with his mother, she would have rubbed
his black and swollen ankle with goose grease. The medical man at
Stamford would have rubbed it with a carefully prepared and
secret ointment. His Indian friend sang a little crooning song
and rubbed it with deer's fat. All different, and all good,
because each did something to reassure the patient, to prove that
big things were doing on his behalf, and each helped the process
of nature by frequent massage.
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