"There, dear, that will keep you warm, and I'll not be after leaving you--never fear--not if we stay together all night in these woods. But I must think how we can manage with you and your injuries. Faith it's raining and you may catch your death." "And I have your sweater on, Nora!" exclaimed Ethel. "Oh, how selfish I am." "Keep still," replied Nora. "I couldn't wear it now, for I'm going to try and carry you home." For a moment Nora gazed tentatively at Ethel. Then suddenly there appeared a dawn of hope in her strong honest face. "Miss Ethel, listen," she began. "When a child did ye ever play pig-a-back? Perhaps I might get you home that way." "Yes, Nora. Papa always carried me up to bed that way," and the girl burst into tears. "Ye mustn't cry," said Nora. "If ye do I shan't be able to carry ye. Now wipe your pretty eyes and help me carry ye as Papa used to. Forget your pain and try to be patient, for, Ethel, we must reach camp some way. Doubtless they are searching for us even now, but this is a side road far from the main one. They'll never think to look here, nor could they hear us were we of call. And then those men you spoke of. They may be near. There's no time to lose. Get on my back and cling for dear life." Nora had great sense. She realized that until she had thoroughly frightened Ethel she would not exert herself and forget her pain. Then, too, if what she had told her were true, the men might really be lying in wait to capture the supposed wealthy New York girl. Sitting on the ground with her back before Ethel she first gently raised the wounded arm, bringing the other one around to meet it. Thanks to the low branch of a tree and to Nora's recent physical culture exercises, making an almost superhuman effort she arose with her burden on her back. Then grasping the girl's knees she held them firmly, thereby supporting her injured leg, and started for the road, stopping now and then by a fence or stone to take breath and rest. On and on in that failing light she bravely walked. As she descended the hill she seemed to have gained new strength. Now and then she'd speak cheering words to the wounded girl, trying to encourage her to bear her pain. The rain pelted in Honora's face, often blinding her. The thunder rolled and the lightning played, but she showed no sign of faltering. Onward she went, even faster. Soon to her joy she beheld the main road, and after a few more rods a light from the Camp Fire. "Shure," she thought, "now I know why men in olden times looked for the fire from their camps. It does cheer a body and give them new life."