And Hope Farwell was very much a woman.
Slowly, but surely, the strength and skill of the fisherman prevailed.
The master of the waters came nearer the hand of his conqueror. The young
woman held her breath while the fish made its last, mad attempt, and
then--when Dan held up his prize for the Doctor, who--on the bank--had
been in the fight with his whole soul, she forgot her embarrassment,
and--springing into full view upon the trunk of the fallen tree--shouted
and waved her congratulations.
Dan almost dropped the fish.
The Doctor, whose old eyes were not so quick to recognize the woman on
the log, was amazed to see his companion go splashing, stumbling,
ploughing through the water toward the shore.
"Hope--Miss Farwell!" gasped Dan, floundering up the bank, the big fish
still in his hand, the shining water streaming from his high boots, his
face glowing with healthful exercise--a something else, perhaps. "What
good fortune brings you here?"
At his impetuous manner, and the eagerness that shone in his eyes, and
sounded in his voice, the woman's face had grown rosy red, but by the
time the fisherman had gained a place by her side the memory of her
mission had driven every other thought from her mind. Briefly she told
him of Deborah's trouble, and a few moments later the Doctor--crossing
the creek higher up--joined them. As they talked Hope saw all the light
and joy go from Dan's face, and in its place came a look of sadness and
determination that made her wonder.
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