"Oh do come in, Fred!" said Harry, blowing and splashing about in the
water like a small whale, on the day following the fishing excursion.
The lads were down by the side of the river, in a spot called Withy
Nook--a green snug place entirely sheltered from all observation--a spot
with the emerald grass sloping down to where the river ran by, sparkling
and dancing in the golden sunlight, flashing back the bright rays from
the tiny wavelets, and making the golden waterlilies rise and fall as
they rode upon the bright surface. The water was so limpid that the
sand and clean washed pebbles could be easily seen at the bottom, except
when the water was put in a state of turmoil by the antics of the two
boys who were bathing.
"Oh do come in, Fred!" echoed Philip; "it isn't a bit cold, and not
deep; and you ought to learn to float and swim."
"Oh come on," said Harry again.
Fred felt that he would like to go in and have a dip, for the water
looked so cool and bright and clear; but there was a certain amount of
timidity to be got over; he had never been in anything but a bath in his
life, and plunging at once into a river was a novel feat that he could
hardly summon courage to attempt. But at last the persuasions of his
cousins had the desired effect, and Fred quickly undressed, and then
stood upon the bank, afraid to take his first dip; but again were the
persuasions of his cousins brought into play, and the London boy took
his first step into the water, and then made a half slip, so that he
came down sideways and went right under the surface, but regained his
feet, with the water singing and rumbling in his ears, his eyes close
shut, and the drops streaming down him as fast as they could run.
"Oh--ah--ah," said Fred, gasping.
"Haw--haw--haw!" burst from Harry, as he laughed heartily at his cousin.
"Don't grin like that, Hal," said Philip, helping Fred out of his
difficulty, and steadying him as he stood breast high in the water,
rubbing his eyes, and trying to get rid of the feeling of bewilderment
that had come over him upon his sudden immersion.
"Oh, isn't it queer?" said Fred, as soon as he had finished gasping, and
spitting out the water he had in his mouth.
"Not a bit of it," said Harry, "only you were in such a hurry to get
under the water. Now, then, try and swim: see me go dog's paddle," and
then the young dog set to paddling away as though he had lived in the
water half his lifetime. "Hold his chin up, Phil, and he'll soon do
it."
But Fred did not want to have his chin held up, nor yet to be touched;
he preferred to wade gently about in the clear water by himself, while
his cousins swam backwards and forwards across the river--here not
twenty yards broad.
"Make haste and learn to swim, Fred, it's so easy," said Harry, "and
such capital fun. Look here; see me dive." And then, turning heels
upwards in the water, he went down out of sight, to Fred's great horror,
but came up again directly, and then floated upon his back, swam
sideways, and did other feats that seemed to Fred little short of
wonders--so easily and deftly were they performed.
"Now then, Phil," said Harry, "I'll race you up to the pollard, and back
to Fred. Come on!"
Philip did "come on," and the boys swam up stream towards the willow
pollard which overhung the river about fifty yards off. Away they went,
working away manfully, for it was hard work against the running water.
Sometimes Philip got a little ahead, and sometimes it was Harry; but
Philip was first when they reached the pollard-tree, and he kept ahead,
too, as they came easily back down stream towards the spot from whence
they started.
"Hallo!" puffed out Harry, all at once, "where's Fred?"
"Got out," gasped Philip, for he was getting out of breath with his
exertions.
"No, he hasn't; I can't see him," said Harry, getting excited. "He's
got out of his depth and gone down stream! Oh, dear! oh, dear! what
shall we do?"
Just then Philip caught sight of something white slowly washing over the
shallows lower down the stream, and he called his brother's attention to
it. "It's Fred," said Harry, swimming as hard as he could. "Come on."
Saying which he dashed out of the water and ran along the bank till he
came opposite the place, where sure enough poor Fred was slowly drifting
over the shallow pebbly-bottomed stream; and then both lads dashed in
and, by using great efforts, dragged their cousin inshore, and got him
upon the bank.
"Put your trousers and jacket on, and run for Papa, Harry," cried
Philip, as he gazed upon the inanimate countenance of Fred, and tried in
vain to open the eyes which kept so obstinately closed.
Harry was not long in obeying his brother's hint, and in less than ten
minutes Mr Inglis, with a couple of the farm-labourers carrying
blankets, arrived upon the spot. Very little was said, but in a few
minutes more poor Fred was carried off to the Grange; while his cousins
stopped behind, shivering with cold and fear, to finish dressing
themselves.
Upon reaching home they found the house in the greatest confusion; one
servant was watching at the front door so as to give the earliest notice
of the doctor's coming, for a man had been sent for him at full gallop;
another was running backwards and forwards from the kitchen carrying hot
blankets; while Mr and Mrs Inglis were doing all that lay in their
power to restore animation; but all seemed as yet in vain, and when
Harry and Philip crept on tiptoe into the bedroom, they trembled at the
ghastly look their cousin wore.
Poor Mrs Inglis seemed quite in despair, and would have ceased her
efforts but for the Squire, who warned her to persevere, saying that
people had been revived even after ill success for two hours or more;
and, apparently hopeless as the case seemed, he kept on himself moving
the body on to one side and back again with a regular motion, so as to
endeavour to promote artificial respiration. On the table was a number
of "The Life Boat," which contained full instructions for recovering the
apparently drowned; and to this Mr Inglis kept making references, and
giving his instructions accordingly.
At length there was the distant sound of a horse's feet coming at a
gallop along the road; they soon came along the gravel drive, were heard
to stop, and then in came quickly, but with a step soft as that of a
cat, that awe-inspiring personage--the Doctor. He saw at a glance what
had been done, and nodded his satisfaction, then examined the pupil of
poor Fred's eye, felt his pulse, and listened at his chest; and
afterwards, drawing off his coat and kneeling by the bedside, continued
the efforts that Mr Inglis had so well commenced.
An hour--a long, long hour--one with leaden seconds--slipped by during
which time not an effort was relaxed; though the faces of Mr and Mrs
Inglis betrayed the despair that had crept over them, while Harry and
Philip sobbed so that they had to be sent out of the room; when they
stifled the sobs as well as they could, and crept back to the door,
where they sat listening outside.
All this time the Doctor's face had been as solid as a block of marble,
not a trace of any emotion--hopeful or despairing--appeared; he kept on
giving order after order, and worked till the perspiration stood in
great drops upon his brow; and still no sign of life. The tears coursed
silently down Mrs Inglis's face, and it was only by a great effort that
she could keep from sobbing. Glad would she have been to have left the
room, but a sense of duty forbade her, and she stayed, lending all the
assistance that lay in her power.
All at once, the Doctor brightened up, and turning to the Squire said,
"Now, I'll have a glass of sherry and a biscuit."
Mr Inglis saw nothing to cause the cheerful way in which the Doctor
spoke, but felt that he must have a good reason for hope, or he would
not have spoken so lightly. So, ringing the bell for the refreshment,
he leaned over the poor boy, and, as he did so, a faint, a very faint,
sigh escaped from his chest, and then there was a slight twitching of
his eyelids.
"There," said the Doctor, wiping his forehead, and turning upon Mr and
Mrs Inglis with a delighted aspect,--"there, I don't believe another
medical man in the county would have persevered to that extent, and
saved the boy's life; but, there, all the credit belongs to Mr Inglis
for commencing the work so well."
"No; it's not due to me. If it had not been for that book on the
table," said he, pointing to the little pamphlet, "I should not have
known how to proceed."
"Ah, well," said the Doctor, "then we will say it was all due to the
Life Boat Institution."
But all this while no efforts were relaxed, for, though symptoms of
revival were plainly to be seen, they were like the flickerings of the
wick of a lamp, liable at a moment to become extinct; but the endeavours
of those present supplied the needful oil, and by slow degrees the
cadaverous hue disappeared from Fred's face; his breathing became firmer
and more regular; and at last his eyes opened, staring vacantly at the
ceiling, and those bending over him; but, after another lapse of time, a
light seemed to be added to the vacant look, and, to the intense delight
of all, a smile came over his pale face as he recognised Mr and Mrs
Inglis. It was thought better that the lads should not come in at
present, so the joyful new was conveyed to them outside the door in a
whisper; and then off and away went Harry, followed by his brother, to
perform a kind of triumphal war-dance down in the dining-room, where he
could make a little noise without being overheard in the sick chamber.
Not very long afterwards, the Doctor took his departure, promising to
return in the course of an hour or two; and then Mr and Mrs Inglis
came into the room where the boys were, and, announcing; that Fred was
in a calm sleep, with one of the maids watching by his side, they asked
how the poor fellow came to be so nearly drowned.
This was a question that neither Harry nor Philip could answer; but they
told what they knew, and could only suppose that he had walked out of
his depth, when the swiftness of the current, and his own timidity, had
prevented him from regaining his footing. So that the full explanation
had to remain until Fred was in a condition to give it himself.
Mr Inglis talked long and seriously to the boys; but he felt that he
could not blame them much, as bathing was an habitual thing with them in
the summer-time, and moreover a most healthy habit: joined to which, for
such young lads, both Harry and Philip were powerful swimmers. But the
act for which Mr Inglis blamed them was not for inducing their cousin
to bathe, but leaving him, ignorant as he was of the power of the
current, by himself.
"I think, Mamma," said the Squire, at last, "we had better send poor
Fred home again. Here in a space of time of only two or three days has
he been lost in the wood; and, but for the blessing of God, he would
have this day been drowned."
"Oh! pray--pray don't send him away, Papa," pleaded both the lads at
once. "We will be so careful for the future. And--and," said Harry,
breaking down as he spoke; "and--and--indeed, Papa, I wish it had been
me to-day sooner than poor Fred, for we do feel that we ought to take
care of him when he's a visitor; don't we, Philip? But I am such an
unlucky beggar; I'm always doing something wrong when I want to do
right, and it does make me so miserable, and so it did when I pitched
into Fred the first afternoon he was here, and I couldn't help it."
"What's that?" said Mr Inglis; "pitched into Fred? What, have you two
been fighting?"
Harry was in too great trouble to speak, so Philip narrated the little
skirmish, concluding with the loss of the poor ferret.
Mr Inglis did not say any more upon the subject; but a smile passed
between him and Mrs Inglis, and then, shaking hands with his boys, they
all went on tiptoe up the stairs to have a look at Fred--Mr Inglis, in
spite of the events of the past few days, evidently of the opinion that
his boys were not so much worse than boys in general.
Fred was fast asleep, breathing regularly; and the maid said he had not
moved; so he was left to his rest, strict injunctions being given that
Mrs Inglis should be called directly the invalid woke, or showed
symptoms of so doing.