o! he! a--" roared our hero, with a mingled feeling of
exasperation and savage glee--"an ass? Why, it's a lovely slender
creature, with short pretty ears and taper limbs, and a sleek, glossy
coat, like--like _me_, Mary, dear; why, I'm an ass myself. Pray, do get
me somethin' to eat. I really believe my appetite's comin' back agin."

Mary looked at March in much concern. She had once nursed the Wild Man
through a severe illness, and knew what delirium was, and she began to
suspect that her guest was beginning to give way.

"Now, lie down," she said with an air of decision that was almost
ludicrous in one so youthful. Yet March felt that he must obey. "Me
will git meat ready. You sleep littil bit."

March shut his eyes at once; but, the instant that Mary turned to attend
to the iron kettle, he opened them, and continued to gaze at the busy
little housewife, until she chanced to look in his direction, when he
shut them again quickly, and very tight. This was done twice; but the
third time Mary caught him in the act, and broke into a merry laugh. It
was the first time she had laughed aloud since March met her; so he
laughed too, out of sheer delight and sympathy.

When March had finished breakfast, he tried to get up, and found, to his
great relief and satisfaction, that no bones were broken--a fact of
which he had stood in considerable doubt--and that his muscles were less
acutely pained than they had been. Still, he was very stiff, and quite
unable, with any degree of comfort, to walk across the cave; so he made
up his mind to lie there till he got well--a resolution which, in the
pride of his heart, he deemed exceedingly virtuous and praiseworthy,
forgetting, either deliberately or stupidly, that the presence of Mary
rendered that otherwise dull cavern the most delightful of sick
chambers, and that her attendance was ample compensation and reward for
any amount of pain or self-denial.

"Mary," he said, when she had cleared away the debris of the morning
meal, "sit down here, and tell me a few things. You're so terribly
close that one doesn't know what he may ask an' what he mayn't. But if
you don't like to speak, you can hold your tongue, you know. Now, tell
me, how old are you?"

"Fifteen," replied Mary.

"Ay! I thought ye'd been older. How long have ye bin with Dick?"

"In cave here--ten year. Before that, me live in my father's wigwam."

"Was yer father a trapper?" inquired March tenderly.