Then hastily lighting the fire, which had burned
itself out, he made coffee and fried bacon.
When the old man had taken a cup of the coffee he began to take an
interest in his surroundings.
"How did I get here?" he asked. "The last thing I remember I was
sitting down, feeling very drowsy, and someone was bothering me to get
up. Did I get up?"
"Not until I lifted you," said Fred.
"Did you carry me?" the other man asked in surprise.
"I did until you kicked and squirmed so I couldn't hold you."
"What did you do then?" queried his visitor, tenderly feeling his sore
cheek.
"I slapped you once, but you really deserved far more," said Fred,
gravely.
"What did I do then?"
"You got up and behaved yourself so nicely I was sorry that I hadn't
slapped you sooner!"
The old man laughed to himself without a sound.
"What's your name?" he asked.
While this dialogue had been in progress Fred had been studying his
companion closely, with a growing conviction that he knew him. He was
older, grayer, and of course the storm had reddened his face, but Fred
thought he could not be mistaken.
The old man repeated the question.
"Brown!" said Fred, shortly, giving the first name he could think of.
"You're a strapping fine young fellow, Brown, even if you did hit me
with your hard mitt, and I believe I should be grateful to you."
"Don't bother," said Fred shortly.
"I will bother," the old man cried, imperiously, with a gesture of his
head that Fred knew well; "I will bother, and my daughter will thank
you, too.
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