BECKY’S LAST FROLIC.
Teddy Sleeper obeyed Becky’s injunction to wait outside, by passing
round school-house, and down the hill, to the window at the end, that
he might be in readiness should she desire to signal him during her
confinement. He was just in time to witness her descent. She plumped
into a cluster of bushes, and for a moment was lost to sight. Even this
terrific leap did not surprise the phlegmatic Teddy, who had such an
exalted opinion of his sister’s prowess, that, had she jumped from the
steeple of the church, he would have expected her to pick herself up as
coolly as she did now, emerging from the bushes with ruffled plumage,
but without a scratch or bruise.
“Well, Becky, got out sooner than I thought you would. Did he make you
read?”
“No, he didn’t,” replied Becky, with a sneer. “It will take a smarter
teacher than him to make me do what I don’t want to. He’s nothing but a
boy.”
“What will the captain say now, Becky?”
“I don’t care what he says. Guess he don’t like the teacher any better
than I do. Come, let’s get away from here; he’ll be after us.”
“That’s so. Where shall we go?”
“Where we were going this morning. We’ve got time to ‘shoot the Basin’
before dinner.”
So saying, Becky, whose hasty exit from the school-room had not allowed
her to gain possession of her hat, started off bareheaded, followed by
Teddy, along the bank of the river, towards the Corner.
Harry Thompson inherited a streak of the obstinacy which was so
apparent in his father. As Becky disappeared from one side of the
window, he rushed from the other, caught up his hat, unlocked the door,
and hastened down the hill, only to see his unruly pupil climbing a
fence twenty rods away. This convinced him that no bones had been
broken. But he was not inclined to let the matter drop here; so he
returned to the school-room, made all secure, and then started in
pursuit.
As he moved along the bank of the river, the leading event of the
morning was uppermost in his thoughts. The appearance of his father in
the school-room had not been unexpected, and the explanation he had
given of his own presence there was perfectly true. Mr. Drinkwater was
ill, and had sent him as a substitute. Harry, who was well acquainted
with the new school-house affair, had, after consultation with his
mother, who visited him daily at Mr. Drinkwater’s residence, where he
was domiciled for the express purpose of meeting her, accepted the
position that he might try the temper of his father, and pave the way
to a reconciliation, if that were possible. He was quietly awaiting the
conclusion of the captain’s vehement review of “what he had done for
him,” when he expected to have an opportunity to say a word in his own
defence; but Miss Becky’s exhibition of _chalkotype_ art interrupted
the contemplated plea, and sadly disarranged his plans. His only
consolation was, that Mr. Drinkwater would not be able to take charge
of the school for several days, and another meeting might be possible.
Becky, in her turn, occupied a share of his thoughtful attention.
He had looked forward with pleasure to the meeting with his little
playmate, fully expecting that the years which had wrought so much
change in his character, would have shaped the little maid, of whom he
was so fond,--with her quick wit and active spirit,--into something
better than the hoiden he found her. Her saucy movements, her rough
appearance, and her rudeness, had startled him; but, remembering the
influences by which she was surrounded at home, and the artistic touch
displayed at the blackboard, he was convinced that in that little
body were capabilities running to waste, which, trained aright, might
blossom into usefulness. If his good mother only had the trailing of
this wild vine, it would flourish in fruitfulness, and not cumber the
ground. It was not yet too late. He would take his mother into his
confidence.
Full of thoughts like these, Harry went on, keeping a sharp lookout for
the runaway, until he reached the paper-mill at the Corner. Here he
was informed that the young Sleepers had gone farther up the river’s
bank. Undecided whether to go on or retrace his steps, he passed into
the mill, and, meeting his old friend, Mark Small, went over the
building with him, viewing the improvements, in which he became so much
interested that he quite forgot the object of his expedition.
In the mean time, Becky and Teddy had, after a long tramp, and with no
small vaulting of fences and climbing of rocks, reached the Basin.
Rogue’s River, the base of Becky’s future operations, was dammed at
three points. The lower dam was at the fore side, the middle dam just
above the school-house, and the upper dam at the Corner. Here was
located Small’s paper-mill, not a very extensive affair, but which
employed a dozen men and as many girls. In the middle of the river,
about a quarter of a mile above this mill, was a small island, scarcely
twenty feet in circumference, on which flourished a wild growth of
unproductive bushes, with one solitary sentinel of a tree in their
centre; and above this was the Basin. Into this basin, after a winding
flow of ten or twelve miles, increased by several minor streams,
the water poured with considerable power. It lay in the form of a
heart, so often depicted on valentines, or moulded in sugar for the
sweet-toothed. It was about thirty feet from bank to bank, and about
the same distance from the point of entrance to the island, which
shooting into it, gave it a resemblance to the emblem of affection.
Divided by this island, the water swept along on either side in strong,
swift currents. When Harry Thompson, as leader of the boys of Cleverly,
had exhausted all the known means of amusement, his daring spirit
suggested a difficult feat, calculated to carry dismay to the hearts
of his followers, and cause uneasiness to those parents who had an
interest in the safety of their children. He not only suggested it, but
himself performed it, and succeeded in inducing a few of the boldest to
follow his example. This feat was known as “shooting the Basin.” Into
the winding river he launched a log, of which there were many lying
along the banks, a mill hand being employed at this point to draw them
out of the stream. Upon this he stepped, with a long, narrow strip of
board to serve as a rudder, with which to guide his craft. The force of
the stream swiftly carried him into the Basin and towards the island.
It was only necessary to keep “her head” straight, and the island was
reached.
He accomplished the feat, well knowing the danger he incurred; for,
had his craft swerved either to the right or left, he would have
been capsized or carried down the river. Of course there could be no
returning in the same manner. But, to prevent his becoming a Robinson
Crusoe, a tree on the bank was felled so as to bridge the stream from
the bank to the island; and there it had remained ever since.
Becky Sleeper, having seen Harry perform this feat, had desired to
undertake it; but Harry had strongly objected, and the tomboy, having
accepted him as a leader, was obliged to postpone the attempt.
Some recent conversations on old sports between Teddy and herself
had awakened a desire to attempt this feat, and a trip to the Basin
had already been arranged for Monday, when the school programme was
promulgated.
The short session, and Becky’s escape, had made the old arrangement
possible; and the young Amazon and her faithful squire were now on the
banks of the upper stream, after a quick march, ready to launch their
barks upon the tide, careless of consequences.
“Now, Teddy,” said Becky, “I’ll go first: you must watch me closely,
and do just as I do. You ain’t scared--are you?”
Teddy, to tell the truth, was looking rather anxiously at the rushing
stream, the broad basin, and the two foaming channels beyond. The
stream had been swollen by heavy rains, and the feat seemed more
difficult than he had imagined before he set out.
“N-o, of course not,” he said slowly. “If you go, I’m bound to anyway.”
“Because, if you are Teddy, you’d better not try it.”
“I will try, Becky. I ain’t a goin’ to be stumped by a girl.”
“All right. But don’t you start until I reach the island; and be sure
you keep your log pointed right straight at the tree.”
While speaking, Becky had rolled a short, stout log into the water,
picked up a light slab, and was ready for the dash. Stepping lightly
and quickly upon the log, she pushed it into the middle of the stream,
headed it for the tree, and, carefully guiding her craft, shot across
the Basin, and struck the island fairly and squarely.
“Hurrah! I’ve done it Teddy!” she shouted, as she leaped upon the land.
“All right; I’m a comin’. Hooray!” answered Teddy, as he jumped upon
his log, which darted down the stream, Teddy dancing rather lively to
regain his equilibrium, which had sustained a shock by the sudden dart
of his log. He was so busily engaged in this manœuvre that he failed to
head his bark as he should, and, instead of going straight across the
Basin, he swept to the right.
“Teddy, Teddy, what are you about?” shouted Becky. “Turn her head!
quick, quick!”
But Teddy was frightened; his log was rolling over and over, and he
dropped his rudder, fell upon the log, and clasped it, with his legs
in the water, and round into the swifter of the two currents it went,
very near the island. Seeing his danger, Becky ran to the edge of the
island, and attempted to rescue him. She leaned far over, lost her
balance, and fell into the stream. Bungling Teddy clutched the bushes
as he passed, let the log go, and pulled himself to land; but Becky was
swept past the island, and went floating down the river.
Teddy, seeing the danger of his sister, shouted lustily for help. Two
men, at work near the bank, ran down to the water, saw the struggling
girl, but could afford no assistance; but they started off at a swift
pace for the mill. Becky was an excellent swimmer; she was not a bit
frightened, but struck out bravely in a vain attempt to reach the bank.
The stream was strong and swift, and bore her on faster and faster
towards the dam. Skillfully she kept her head above water, and struck
out to reach Teddy’s log, which was just ahead of her. Fast as she
went, the men on the shore flew faster still. It was a case of life and
death. They reached the mill.
“Help, help! there’s a girl in the water!”
Men came running out, women ran to the windows; there was wild
commotion, but no attempt at rescue.
“We can’t help her; she must go over the dam!”
“Throw her a rope--it’s her only chance!”
“Mighty slim chance: she’s too much frightened to catch it. She can’t
be saved!”
“She can be saved! Quick! a long, stout rope!”
It was a commanding voice that spoke, a commanding form that stepped
forward--the school-master, Harry Thompson. Quickly a rope was placed
in his hand.
“Now, three good, strong fellows, follow me!”
He threw off his coat, ran along the bank, winding the rope around
his body, and tying it as he ran. Becky was coming down swiftly, when
the roar of the dam reached her ears. For the first time she felt her
danger. Instantly all power of exertion forsook her. The terrible dam!
the jagged rocks beneath! There was death in the thought, and a shrill
scream rang over the water.
“Help, help! Don’t let me drown! don’t let me go over the dam!”
“Courage, Becky, courage. You shall be saved.”
She recognized the voice, even in her agony. “O, Harry, Harry! save me,
save me!”
Still on and on she swept, and the roar of the dam grew louder and
louder. It seemed to sound in her ears like thunder.
“Now, quick, boys, quick! Give me plenty of rope, and hold on strong!”
Harry Thompson kicked off his shoes and threw away his hat. Becky
was moving towards him, but ten feet from the bank. He measured the
distance with his eye, stepped back a few paces, then ran quickly,
and leaped into the water. The best jumper in the county had well
calculated his distance. He struck the water close beside Becky. He
clasped her quick, she threw her arms about his neck with a scream of
joy, and both sank beneath the water.
Then the good, strong fellows pulled with a will, and in a moment Becky
and her preserver were safe on the bank. Such a shout as the good
fellows sent up, then such a chorus of shouts as the people at the mill
joined to theirs, was never before heard in Cleverly.
But the chorus of rejoicing was unheard by Becky, who lay upon the
bank insensible. The girls from the mill gathered about her, rubbed
her hands, bathed her temples, and used all the customary means of
restoration; but yet she lay there cold and still.
Harry became alarmed. She must be taken home at once.
“Small, bring your wagon--quick! Send a man for the doctor--quick!”
Small’s team was standing at the mill door. In a few moments Harry was
in the wagon, with Becky in his arms, and one of the “good fellows” was
racing down the road, horseback, for the doctor.
Mrs. Sleeper, weak and dispirited, was in the kitchen, standing at
the table, washing the dinner dishes; Aunt Hulda, nursing an attack of
lumbago, was groaning at the fireside. A wagon drove swiftly into the
yard, a moment, and Harry Thompson stood in the doorway, bearing the
insensible form of Becky.
“Mrs. Sleeper, quick! your camphor bottle!”
Mrs. Sleeper dropped the dish in her hands; her eyes glared at the
helpless girl. Her lips parted, but no sound came from them. Then her
eyes closed, her hands clutched the air, and she fell heavily to the
floor. Aunt Hulda ran to her and raised her head.
“Delia Sleeper, what on airth ails you?--Here, you, Henry Thompson,
take that girl into the settin’ room. That’s just like you
Thompsons--always a scarin’ folks to death.--Delia, Delia! what ails
you?”
Aunt Hulda rubbed her, and sprinkled water over her, scolding all the
while. Harry carried Becky to the sitting-room, and laid her upon
the lounge. As he did so, a sigh, and the opening of her eyes, gave
assurance of returning animation; and when, in a few minutes, Dr. Allen
entered, there was no occasion for his services, for Becky was sitting
up, and inquiring for Teddy, who at that moment was coming down the
road, between the mill and the school-house, feeling very wet and mean.
Mrs. Sleeper was carried to her room, and laid upon the bed. Dr. Allen,
finding Becky so comfortable, made the former a visit.
“Doctor, what ails her? Is it stericks?”
The doctor shook his head.
“Worse than that, worse than that!”
“You don’t say so! Goodness gracious! it’s purrellysis.”
The doctor nodded. Aunt Hulda was right. The sudden shock, upon the
long and weary straining for the ever-distant ship, had snapped the
cords of action, and left her powerless.