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Any way, Ann went straight there, through pasture and woodland, over ditches and stone walls. She knew every step of the way for a long distance. When she gradually got into the unfamiliar wilderness of the swamp, a thought struck her–suppose she got lost too! It would be easy enough–the unbroken forest stretched for miles in some directions. She would not find a living thing but Indians, and, maybe, wild beasts, the whole distance.

If she should get lost she would not find Hannah, and the people would have to hunt for her too. But Ann had quick wits for an emergency. She had actually carried those cards, with a big wad of wool between them all the time, in her gathered-up apron. Now she began picking off little bits of wool and marking her way with them, sticking them on the trees and bushes. Every few feet a fluffy scrap of wool showed the road Ann had gone.

But poor Ann went on, farther and farther–and no sign of Hannah. She kept calling her from time to time, hallooing at the top of her shrill sweet voice: “Hannah! Hannah! Hannah Fre-nch!”

But never a response got the dauntless little girl, slipping almost up to her knees sometimes, in black swamp-mud; and sometimes stumbling painfully over tree-stumps, and through tangled undergrowth.

“I’ll go till my wool gives out,” said Ann Wales; then she used it more sparingly.

But it was almost gone before she thought she heard in the distance a faint little cry in response to her call: “Hannah! Hannah Fre-nch!” She called again and listened. Yes; she certainly did hear a little cry off toward the west. Calling from time to time, she went as nearly as she could in that direction. The pitiful answering cry grew louder and nearer; finally Ann could distinguish Hannah’s voice.

Wild with joy, she came, at last, upon her sitting on a fallen hemlock-tree, her pretty face pale, and her sweet blue eyes strained with terror.

“O, Hannah!” “O, Ann!”

“How did you ever get here, Hannah?”

“I–started for aunt Sarah’s–that morning,” explained Hannah, between sobs. “And–I got frightened in the woods, about a mile from father’s. I saw something ahead I thought was a bear. A great black thing! Then I ran–and, somehow, the first thing I knew, I was lost. I walked and walked, and it seems to me I kept coming right back to the same place. Finally I sat down here, and staid; I thought it was all the way for me to be found.”

“O, Hannah! what did you do last night?”

“I staid somewhere, under some pine-trees,” replied Hannah, with a shudder; “and I kept hearing things–O, Ann!”

Ann hugged her sympathizingly. “I guess I wouldn’t have slept much if I had known,” said she. “O, Hannah, you haven’t had anything to eat! ain’t you starved?”

Hannah laughed faintly. “I ate up two whole pumpkin pies I was carrying to aunt Sarah,” said she. “Oh! how lucky it was you had them.” “Yes; mother called me back to get them, after I started. They were some new ones, made with cream, and she thought aunt Sarah would like them.”

Pretty soon they started. It was hard work, for the way was very rough, and poor Hannah weak. But Ann had a good deal of strength in her lithe young frame, and she half-carried Hannah over the worst places. Still both of the girls were pretty well spent when they came to the last of the bits of wool on the border of Bear Swamp. However, they kept on a little farther; then they had to stop and rest. “I know where I am now,” said Hannah, with a sigh of delight; “but I don’t think I can walk another step.” She was, in fact, almost exhausted.

Ann looked at her thoughtfully. She hardly knew what to do. She could not carry Hannah herself–indeed, her own strength began to fail; and she did not want to leave her to go for assistance.