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.
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