knew that Peter, too, was
dying. And as she stumbled onward--on toward the black forest, she put
her face down to Peter and sobbed over and over again his name.

"Peter--Peter--Peter--"

And Peter, joyous and grateful for her love and the sound of her voice
even in these moments, thrust out his tongue and caressed her cheek, and
the girl's breath came in a great sob as she staggered on.

"It's all right now, Peter," she crooned. "It's all right, baby. He
won't hurt you any more, an' we're goin' across the creek to Mister
Roger's cabin, an' you'll be happy there. You'll be happy--"

Her voice choked full, and her mother-heart seemed to break inside her,
just as life had gone out of that other mother's heart when the baby
died. For their grief, in God's reckoning of things, was the same; and
little Peter, sensing the greatness of this thing that had made them one
in flesh and blood, snuggled his wiry face closer in her neck, crying
softly to her, and content to die there close to the warmth of the
creature he loved.

"Don't cry, baby," she soothed. "Don't cry, Peter, dear. It'll soon
be all right--all right--" And the sob came again into her throat, and
clung there like a choking fist, until they came to the edge of the big
forest.

She looked down, and saw that Peter's eyes were closed; and not until
then did the miracle of understanding come upon her fully that there was
no difference at all between the dying baby's face and dying Peter's,
except that one had been white and soft, and Peter's was different--and
covered with hair.

"God'll take care o' you, Peter," she whispered. "He will--God, 'n' me,
and Mister Roger--"

She knew there was untruth in what she was saying for no one, not even
God, would ever take care of Peter again--in life. His still little face
and the terrible grief in her own heart told her that. For Peter's back
was broken, and he was going--going even now--as she ran moaningly with
him through the deep aisles of the forest. But before he died, before
his heart stopped beating in her arms, she wanted to reach Jolly Roger's
friendly cabin, in the big swamp beyond the creek. It was not that he
could save Peter, but something told her that Jolly Roger's presence
would make Peter's dying easier, both for Peter and for her, for in this
first glad spring of her existence the stranger in the forest shack had
brought sunshine and hope and new dreams into her life; and they had set
him up, she and