In Jolly Roger there rose something of exultation, for Nada's warm little hand lay in his as he guided her through the darkness, and her fingers had clasped themselves tightly round his thumb.

She was very close to him when he paused to make sure of the unseen trail, so close that her cheek rested against his arm, and--bending a little--his lips touched the soft ripples of her hair.

But he could not see her in the gloom, and his heart pounded fiercely all the way to the ford.
Then he laughed a strange little laugh that was not at all like Jolly Roger.
"I'll try and not let you get wet again, Nada," he said.
Her fingers still held to his thumb, as if she was afraid of losing him there in the blackness that lay about them like a great ink-blotch.

And she crept closer to him, saying nothing, and all the power in his soul fought in Jolly Roger to keep him from putting his arms about her slim little body and crying out the worship that was in him.
"I ain't--I mean I'm not afraid of gettin' wet," he heard her whisper then.

"You're so big and strong, Mister Roger--" Gently he freed his thumb from her fingers, and picked her up, and held her high, so that she was against his breast and above the deepest of the water.