NOT STRONG IN VAIN
Graydon dreaded embarrassment when meeting Madge at dinner, but was
agreeably disappointed. There was nothing in the young girl's manner
which suggested a vexed consciousness of their recent interview,
neither were there covert overtures, even in tones, toward more
friendly relations. He saw that if any were made he must make them.
Madge was merely too well bred to show anger in public, or occasion
surmises that would require explanations. During the meal she spoke
of missing her horseback exercise, and said that she meant to ask Dr.
Sommers if he did not know of a good animal that might be hired for a
few weeks. Graydon at once resolved to make a propitiatory offering,
and to go out with Madge when Miss Wildmere was unattainable. For the
time he was content to imitate Madge's tactics, and acted as if he
intended to follow the course that she had suggested. The fact that
Arnault was so evidently enjoying his dinner and the Wildmere smiles
did not detract from his purpose to prove that he also was not without
resources. Moreover, he felt that he had not treated Madge fairly;
he had been truly fond of her, and now was conscious of a growing
respect. As she had said, it was not a little thing that she had
attempted and accomplished, and there had been small ground for his
discontent. After dinner, however, he found a chance to ensconce
himself by Miss Wildmere on the piazza, and he was fully resolved to
lose no such opportunities.
Madge, with the Muir children, passed him on the way to a small lake
on which she had promised to give the little people a row. He took
off his hat in cordial courtesy, and she recognized him with a brief
smile, in which Miss Wildmere could detect no apprehension.
"I hope that 'sister Madge,' as you call her, does not resent my
enjoyment of your society."
"Not in the least. I feel, however, that I have been neglecting her
shamefully, and propose to make amends."
"Indeed; has she brought you to a sense of your shortcomings? This
scarcely bears out your first remark."
"It is nothing against its truth. Miss Aldeu makes it very clear that
she is not dependent on me or any one for enjoyment; but in view of
the past I have been scarcely courteous. Therefore," he added, with
a laugh, "when Arnault monopolizes you I shall console myself with
Madge."
"And therefore I shall feel the less compunction. Thank you."
"I am glad to take the least thorn from the roses of your life," was
his smiling answer.
She veiled close scrutiny under her reply: "I fear the brilliant Miss
Alden will cause my society to appear commonplace in contrast."
"I do not see how you can fear anything of the kind," was his prompt
answer; "I trust you, and you must trust me."
"I do trust you, Mr. Muir," she said, softly.
Before he could speak again nurses and children came streaming and
screaming from the lake toward the house. "Nellie Wilder is drowned,"
was the burden of their dire message.
Graydon sprang down the steps, and rushed with the fleetness of the
wind toward the lake.
As Madge, with Jennie and Harry Muir, approached the water, they saw
a party of children playing carelessly in a boat, and a moment later
a little girl fell overboard. The boat was in motion toward the shore,
and when she rose it had passed beyond her reach. Her companions gave
way to wild panic, and, instead of trying to save her, screamed and
pulled for land. No one was present except nurses and other children,
and they all joined in the wild, helpless chorus of alarm, and began a
stampede toward the hotel.
Madge saw that if the child was saved she must act promptly and
wisely. To the Muir children she said, authoritatively, "Sit down
where you are and don't move." Then she rushed forward and unfastened
a skiff. As she did so the child rose for the last time and sunk again
with a gurgling cry. Keeping her eyes fixed on the spot, and with an
oar in her hand, Madge pushed away from the shore vigorously with her
feet, and with the impetus sprang upon the narrow stern-sheets, then
crept forward toward the bow, at the same time ever keeping her eyes
fixed unwaveringly on the spot where the child had sunk, from which
widening circles were eddying. The nurses and children who had not
started for the house, seeing that a rescue was attempted, looked on
with breathless dread and suspense.
When the impetus that Madge had first given to the skiff ceased, she
kept the little craft in motion by paddling, first on one side, then
on the other, her eyes still fixed on one point in the dark water.
At last this point seemed almost beneath her; she dropped the oar,
stooped, and peered over the side of the boat. After a moment's
hesitation she appeared to those on shore to have lost her balance,
fallen overboard, and sunk. Renewed screams of terror resounded,
and the Muir children fled toward the hotel, crying, "Aunt Madge is
drowned."
"What do you mean?" Graydon gasped, seizing Harry by the arm.
"Oh, Uncle Graydon! run quick. Aunt Madge fell out of a boat under
water."
A moment later he saw the young girl rise to the surface with a child
in her grasp. With one headlong plunge, and a few strong strokes, he
was at her side, exclaiming, "Great God, Madge! what does this mean?"
"Take her to the shore, quick; no matter about me;" and she pushed the
limp and apparently lifeless form into his arms.
"But, Madge--" he began.
"Haste! haste! and the child may be saved. Don't think of me; I can
swim as well as you;" and she struck out toward the shore.
Wondering and thrilled with admiration, in spite of the confusion of
his thoughts, he did as directed, and took the child to land at once.
Madge was there as soon as he, crying, even before she left the water,
"Run for Dr. Sommers, and if not at home ride after him."
Meanwhile gentlemen and employés of the house were arriving, and some
turned back in search of the physician.
The awful tidings had come upon poor Mrs. Wilder, the mother of the
child, like a bolt out of a clear sky, and she had run screaming and
moaning toward the scene of disaster. Mother love had given her almost
superhuman strength; but when she saw the pale little face on the
ground, with the hue of death upon it, she crouched beside it in
speechless agony, and watched the efforts that were made to bring back
consciousness.
Madge led and directed these efforts. In truth, she did as much to
save the child on land as when it had lain submerged on the muddy
bottom of the pond. Graydon, seeing that she was coming up the bank,
had paused a moment irresolutely, and then was about to start for the
hotel with his burden. Madge caught his arm, and took the child from
him.
"Graydon, take off your coat and give it to me," she said,
imperatively, as she laid the child down on its back; "your
handkerchief, also," she added.
She forced open the pale lips, and wiped out the mouth with marvellous
celerity, paying no heed to the clamorous voices around her. "Some one
give me a sharp knife," she cried, "and don't crowd so near."
Lifting the child's clothing at the throat, she cut it down ward to
the waist, then down each arm, leaving the lovely little form exposed
and free. Dropping the knife, she next rolled the coat into a bundle,
turned the child over so that her abdomen should rest upon it; then
with hands pressed rather strongly on each side of the little back,
Madge sought to expel the water that might have been swallowed.
Turning the child over on her back again, the bundle made by the coat
was placed under the small of her back, so as to raise the chest.
Then, catching the little tongue that had awakened merry echoes but
a few moments before, she drew it out of the mouth to one side by the
aid of the handkerchief, and said to Graydon, "Hold it, so."
All now saw that they were witnessing skilled efforts. Discordant
advice ceased, and they looked on with breathless interest.
"Has any one smelling salts?" Madge asked. There was no response. She
snatched a bit of grass and tickled the child's nose, saying, at the
same time, "Bring water." This, after a few seconds, she dashed over
the face and exposed chest, waited an instant, then gave her patient a
slap over the pit of the stomach.
Graydon, kneeling before her, looked on with silent amazement. Her
glorious eyes shone with an absorbed and merciful purpose; she was
oblivious of her own strange appearance, the masses of her loosening
hair falling over and veiling the lovely form outlined clearly by
the wet and clinging drapery of her summer dress. Others looked on
in wonder, too, and with a respect akin to awe. Among them were her
sister and Henry Muir, Mr. Arnault, and Miss Wildmere--her feelings
divided between envy and commiseration for the child and its stricken
mother.
These first simple efforts having no apparent effect, Madge said,
quietly, "We must try artificial respiration. Move a little more to
one side, Graydon."
Kneeling behind the child, she lifted the little arms quickly but
steadily up, over and down, until they lay upon the ground behind the
wet golden curls. This motion drew the ribs up, expanded the chest and
permitted air to enter it. After two or three seconds Madge reversed
the motion and pressed the arms firmly against the chest, to expel the
air. This alternate motion was kept up regularly at about the rate
of sixteen times a minute, until the sound of a galloping horse was
heard, and the crowd parted for Dr. Sommers. He took in the situation
with his quick eye, and said, "Miss Alden, let me take your place."
"Oh, thank God, you are here!" she exclaimed. "Let me hold her tongue,
Graydon; I must do something."
"Yes, Mr. Muir," added the physician; "let her help me; she knows just
what to do. How long was the child under water?"
"I don't know exactly; not long."
"Not more than four or five minutes?"
"I think not."
"There should be hope, then."
"We must save her!" cried Madge. "I once saw people work over an hour
before there were signs of life."
"Oh, God bless your brave heart!" murmured the poor mother. "You won't
leave my child--you won't let them give her up, will you?"
"No, Mrs. Wilder, not for one hour or two. I believe that your little
girl will be saved."
"Have some brandy ready," said Dr. Sommers.
A flask was produced, and Graydon again knelt near, to have it in
readiness, while the doctor kept up his monotonous effort, pressing
the arms against the lungs, then lifting them above the head and back
to the ground, with regular and mechanical iteration.
The child's eyelids began to tremble. "Ah!" exclaimed the doctor; a
moment later there was a slight choking cough, and a glad cry went up
from the throng.
"The brandy," said the doctor.
Madge now gave up the case to him and Graydon, and slipped down beside
the mother, who was swaying from side to side. "Don't faint," she
said; "your child will need you as soon as she is conscious."
"Oh, Heaven bless you! Heaven bless you!" cried the mother; "you have
saved my only, my darling."
"Yes, madam, you are right. It's all plain sailing now," the doctor
added.
Then Madge became guilty of her first useless act. In strong revulsion
she fainted dead away. In a moment her head was on Mrs. Muir's lap,
and Henry Muir was at her side.
"Poor girl! no wonder. There's not a woman in a hundred thousand who
could do what she has done. There, don't worry about her. Put her in
my carriage with Mrs. Muir, and take her to her room; I'll be there
soon. She'll come out all right; such girls always do."
Meanwhile Mr. Muir and Graydon were carrying out the doctor's
directions, and the unconscious girl was borne rapidly to her
apartment, where, under her sister's ministrations, she soon revived.
Almost her first conscious words, after being assured that the child
was safe, were, "Oh, Mary! what a guy I must have appeared! What will
Graydon--I mean all who saw me--think?"
"They'll think things that might well turn any girl's head. As for
Graydon, he is waiting outside now, half crazy with anxiety to receive
a message from you."
"Tell him I made a fool of myself, and he must not speak about it
again on the pain of my displeasure."
"Well, you have come to," said Mrs. Muir, and then she went and
laughingly delivered the message verbatim, adding, "Go and put on dry
clothes. You'll catch your death with those wet things on, and you
look like a scarecrow."
He departed, more puzzled over Madge Alden than ever, but admitting to
himself that she had earned the right to be anything she pleased.
Dr. Sommers continued his efforts in behalf of the little girl,
chafing her wrists and body with the brandy, and occasionally giving
a few drops until circulation was well restored; and then, at her
mother's side, carried the child to her room, and gave directions to
those who were waiting to assist.
When he entered Madge's apartment, she greeted him with the words,
"What a silly thing I did!"
"Not at all, not at all. You made your exit gracefully, and escaped
the plaudits which a brave girl like you wouldn't enjoy. I take off
my hat to you, as we country-folks say. You are a heroine--as good
a doctor as I on shore and a better one in the water. Where did you
learn it all?"
"Nonsense!" said Madge, "nothing would vex me more than to have a
time made over the affair. It's all as simple as a, b, c. What's that
little pond to one who has been used to swimming in the Pacific! As I
said, I saw a girl restored once, and Mr. Wayland has explained to me
again and again just what to do."
"Oh, yes, it's all simple enough if you know how, but that's just the
trouble. In all that crowd I don't believe there was one who would not
have done the wrong thing. Well, well, I can manage now if I'm obeyed.
You've had a good deal of a shock, and you must keep quiet till
to-morrow. Then I'll see."
Madge laughingly protested that nothing would please her better than
a good supper and a good book. "Please give out also," she said, "that
any reference to the affair will have a very injurious influence on
me."
In spite of the doctor, messages and flowers poured in. At last Mrs.
Wilder came and said to Mrs. Muir, "I must see her, if it is safe."
"It's safe enough," Mrs. Muir began, "only Madge doesn't like so much
made of it."
"I won't say much," pleaded the mother. She did not say anything, but
put her arms around Madge and pressed her tear-stained face upon the
young girl's bosom in long, passionate embrace, the hastened back to
her restored treasure, who was sleeping quietly. Madge's eyes were
wet also, and she turned her face to the wall and breathed softly
to herself, "Whatever happens now--and it's plain enough what will
happen--I did not get strong in vain. Graydon can never think me
altogether weak and lackadaisical again, and I have saved one woman's
heart from anguish, however my own may ache."