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.
