Keppel and Henry took turns at the sweeps, while the three smaller children began to manifest a love for the water they had not seemed to possess earlier in the day.  They played along the edge of the raft, always in imminent danger of falling in, always being called back, or seized, just in time to prevent a catastrophe.  This ceaseless activity on their part earned them much in the way of cuffings, chastisements which Mrs. Cavendish administered with no great spirit.

“Drat you, why don’t you go look at the pore gentleman instead of posterin’ a body ’most to death!” she demanded at length, and they stole off on tiptoe to stare at Yancy.  Presently Richard ran to his mother’s side.

“Come quick—­he’s mutterin’ and mumblin’ and moving his head!” he cried.  It wƒs as the child said.  Yancy had roused from his heavy stupor.  Words almost inaudible and quite inarticulate were issuing from his lips and there was a restless movement of his head on the pillow.

“He ’pears powerful distressed about something,” said Mrs. Cavendish.  “I reckon I’d better give him a little stimulant now.”

While she was gone for the whisky, Connie, who had squatted down beside the bed, touched Yancy’s hand which lay open.  Instantly his fingers closed about hers and he was silent; the movement of his head ceased abruptly; but when she sought to withdraw her hand he began to murmur again.

“I declare, what he wants is some one to sit beside him!” said Mrs. Cavendish, who had returned with the whisky, a few drops of which she managed to force between Yancy’s lips.  All the rest of that day some one of the children sat beside the wounded man, who was quiet and satisfied just as long as there was a small hand for him to hold.

“He must be a family man,” observed Mr. Cavendish when Polly told him of this.  “We’ll tie up at Pleasantville landing and learn who he is.”

“He had ought to have a doctor to look at them cuts of his,” said Mrs. Cavendish.

It was late afternoon when the landing was reached.  Half a score of men were loafing about the woodyard on shore.  Mr. Cavendish made fast to a blasted tree, then he climbed the bank; the men regarding him incuriously as he approached.

“Howdy,” said Cavendish genially.

“Howdy,” they answered.

“Where might I find the nearest doctor?” inquired Cavendish.

“Within about six foot of you,” said one of the group.

“Meaning yourself?”

“Meaning myself.”

Briefly Cavendish told the story of Yancy’s rescue.

“Now, Doc, I want you should cast an eye over the way we’ve dressed his cuts, and I want the rest of you to come and take a look at him and tell who he is and where he belongs,” he said in conclusion.

“I’ll know him if he belongs within forty miles of here in any direction,” said the doctor.  But he shook his head when his eye rested on Yancy.  “Never saw him,” he said briefly.