He wept, and could not utter what he evidently intended to say. My cheek burned, for in my sympathy for the poor girl and her father I had quite forgotten my hard swim after the disaster. I stammered some reply, and did not even then know what I was saying.
"Under God, you saved her; and I shall bless you as long as I live for the noble deed. It was hard to lose her who is gone; it would have been doubly hard to lose both of them."
"O, I don't think anything of what I did," I replied. "My poor little sister here has done a good deal more than I have for her."
Mr. Goodridge took the hand of Flora, and thanked her as he had thanked me. I told him the story of our voyage down the river after Emily joined us, as briefly as I could, giving my poor sister the credit for all her careful and devoted nursing of the invalid.
"I must go now, sir," I added, when the narrative was finished.
"Indeed, you must not," said the grateful father, decidedly.
"I left Sim Gwynn on the raft. He is rather simple, and I am afraid something will happen to him."
"Not yet; my sister's clothes and other things are in the house."
He called the servant and ordered a carriage, saying he would go with me himself to the raft, and employ a man to take charge of it. We drove to the levee, where Mr. Goodridge sent for one of the porters in his warehouse, who was ordered to sleep on board, and see that nothing was stolen. Sim was directed to get into the carriage with us, and we went back to the house of the merchant.
"Hookie!" almost screamed Sim, as we entered the elegant mansion.
"Shut up, Sim! Don't open your mouth again!" I whispered to him.
"Hookie!" replied he, in a suppressed tone.
"Well, Buckland," said our host, when we were seated in the parlor,--Sim with his mouth open almost as wide as his eyes,--"I should like to know something more about you. You have only told me what occurred after you saved Emily. How happened you to be floating down the river on a raft?"
I told my story, from the day my father died, keeping back nothing except the matter relating to Squire Fishley's infirmity.
"And your brother is here in New Orleans?" said he.
"Yes, sir. He has gone into business here."
"Bradford! I thought your name was Buckland."