half carried her over a considerable space of uneven ground, until
he came to the door of a small house, where stood an elderly woman with
a lantern.

"Dickory! Dickory!" shouted the woman, "what is that you are bringing
home? Is it a great fish?"

"It is a young woman," said the boy, "but she is as wet as a fish."

"Woman!" cried good Dame Charter. "What mean you, Dickory, is she dead?"

"Not dead, Mother Charter," said Kate, who now stood, unassisted, in the
light of the lantern, "but in woeful case, and more like to startle you
than if I were the biggest fish. I am Mistress Kate Bonnet, just out of
the river between here and the town. No, I will not enter your house, I
am not fit; I will stand here and tell my tale."

"Dickory!" shouted Dame Charter, "take the lantern and run to the
kitchen cabin, where ye'll make a fire quickly."

Away ran Dickory, and standing in the darkness, Kate Bonnet told her
tale. It was not a very satisfactory tale, for there was a great part of
it which Kate herself did not understand, but it sufficed at present for
the good dame, who had known the girl when she was small, and who was
soon busily engaged in warming her by her fire, refreshing her with
food, and in fortifying her against the effects of her cold bath by a
generous glass of rum, made, the good woman earnestly asserted, from
sugar-cane grown on Master Bonnet's plantation.

Early the next morning came Dickory from the kitchen, where he had made
a fire (before that he had been catching some fish), and on a rude bench
by the house door he saw Kate Bonnet. When he perceived her he laughed;
but as she also laughed, it was plain she was not offended.

This pretty girl was dressed in a large blue gown, belonging to the
stout Dame Charter, and which was quite as much of a gown as she had any
possible need for. Her head was bare, for she had lost her hat, and she
wore neither shoes nor stockings, those articles of apparel having been
so shrunken by immersion as to make it impossible for her to get them
on.

"Thy mother is a good woman," said Kate, "and I am so glad you did not
take me to the town. I don't wonder you gaze at me; I must look like a
fright."

Dickory made no answer, but by the way in which he regarded her, she
knew that he saw nothing frightful in her face.

"You have been very good to me," said she, rising and making a step
towards him, but suddenly stopping on account of her bare feet, "and I
wish I could t