"Eva, take the hand of your aunt," said Mr. Brainerd, who saw that his
other daughter was desirous of saying something to him; "and let Maggie
and me walk together for a few minutes."
The child would have preferred to stay by the side of her beloved
parent, but she did as requested, and her elder sister slipped back,
and, as the ground permitted, ran her own arm beneath her father's, and
the two walked together.
"Well, Maggie, what is it?" he asked, tenderly.
The brave girl repressed her distress as best she could, but he detected
the tremor in the voice which asked the question:
"Father, have you told us _all_ about Fred?"
"I saw him a while ago."
"Do you know whether he is alive or--or--dead?"
"Be courageous, my child; I cannot answer that question, but I have hope
that we shall see him again. He hurried home from the army to help us,
but arrived too late. Reaching Monocacy Island, he became so anxious to
find out what had become of me, that he returned to the battle-ground at
great risk to himself. We met, providentially, and found that neither
was hurt--a remarkable piece of good-fortune indeed."
"But how did you become separated?"
"We started up the river bank in the direction of Fort Wintermoot,
believing we would stand a better chance of getting across without
molestation, for he had learned from a fugitive that you had gotten
over. Fred made me promise, while on the way, that if we became
separated I should make no effort to rejoin him--that is, to help him,
for he must have felt that I could do him no good. I gave the promise,
and then demanded that he should make me a similar pledge-but he
actually refused."
"Just like my noble brother!" exclaimed Maggie, with a glowing
countenance; "well?"
"Scarcely five minutes later we approached a dense portion of the
forest, in which we feared were some of the Indians. Fred had assumed
the leadership before this, and he told me to stay where I was until he
could go forward and learn whether it would do to pick our way through
that part of the wood, or whether it was necessary to go around."
"Well? well?" asked Maggie, seeing that her father hesitated.
"My boy went forward to reconnoiter--and he didn't come back."
"O, father!" wailed Maggie, "what became of him?"
"You can guess as well as I: there were Indians in there, as I learned
immediately after, and one of several things may have happened to him.
He may have found himself involved in such a network of danger that he
was forced to lie still, not daring to withdraw until night; he may have
been compelled to go out by another route, or he----"
"May have been captured and killed."
Maggie's eyes were fixed yearningly upon the face of her parent, as she
finished his remark in a tremulous whisper.
"It may have been so," he added, gravely, "but we cannot be certain.
Fred is very active, cool, self-possessed, and daring, and I shall not
give up hope so long as this uncertainty exists."
Maggie Brainerd attempted to speak, but failed. The human heart at such
a time reaches the limit of endurance, and she drew her shawl closer
about her, though the afternoon was warm, and the exertion of traveling
was great.
She had no covering on her head, but, like Eva, her wealth of luxuriant
tresses, as fine as the golden floss on the ripening corn, flowed down
and over her shapely shoulders.
"We are in the hands of God," said her father, reverently, as he drew
his elbow closer to his side, so as to press the hand of his daughter
with it; "I waited as long as I dared, and had I not made the pledge I
would have gone forward to Fred's assistance."
"It was well you did not, for we would have two instead of one to mourn
for."
"But where is your courage, child?" he asked, reproachfully; "is this
the girl who stood up in the flat-boat and used the pole when the
bullets were flying about her? Is this she who coolly raised her rifle
and fired at those who were seeking her life?"
"I ought to be thankful, and I _am_ thankful, for God has been tenfold
more merciful to me than he has to scores of others. Our family as yet
is unbroken, and, though the way is long and dark before us, we have
cause to hope we shall all be saved."
"And there is equal cause to hope for the final escape of Fred," her
father was quick to add.
"I will not murmur anymore," said Maggie, helping him over a boulder
that obstructed their path; "we have enough on hand, without looking
behind us. It may be that Fred is one of the fortunate few who shall
survive to tell the dreadful story, but I feel as though we shall never
see him again."
"Tut, tut, your feelings have nothing to do with it; when he rejoins us,
and learns what a timid creature you were, or rather how strongly you
doubted his ability to take care of himself--you will blush to look him
in the face."
"I pray that I may have the opportunity--"
"Hello!" broke in her parent, stopping suddenly, as did all the rest;
"there's something wrong."
And so there was, sure enough.