Ye come with me. Ye need a woman's hand, girl. Ye're well in
yerself."
There was a huskiness to the sharp voice and the man took her by the
arm, turning her toward the fire and the two women. She stumbled a step
or two in the short stretch.
"I must go back to him, M'sieu!" she protested. "He will need--will
need--broth--and a wet cloth to his bruised head--"
"We'll see to him, don't ye fret. It's shlape ye need yerself. Sheila,
whativer do ye think o' this! Here's a colleen shlipped through the
fingers of those bow-legged signboards and fair done wid heroism an'
strategy, an' Lord knows what all, an' off her feet wid tire! Do ye
take her an' feed her. Put her to bed on th' blankets an' do for her
like yerself knows how, darlint! 'Tis an angel unaware, I'm thinkin'--
an' her on Deer River!"
One of the women, a little creature with dark hair and blue eyes, Irish
eyes "rubbed in with a smutty finger," came forward and looked up into
Maren's stained face, streaked with her tears, her eyes dazed and all
but closing with the weariness that had only laid its hand upon her in
the last few moments, but whose sudden touch was heavy as lead.
"Say ye so!" she said wonderingly; "a girl! So this was what caused the
rumpus in the night! But come, dearie, 'tis rest ye want, sure!"
She laid her and on Maren's arm and there was in its gentle touch
something which broke down the last quivering strand of strength within
the girl, striving to stand upright.
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