BRUNO TO THE RESCUE
"YOU'RE late home to dinner, Ken."
"I know I am, mother, but I couldn't help it," said Kenneth, as he
slipped into the vacant place at the dinner table; "something really
quite exciting has happened."
"What is it?" asked Rupert and Gertie in a breath, while Marcia's
wondering eyes put the same question.
"Ella Russell, down at Rose Cottage, has broken her arm, and I've been
to fetch Dr. Soames for her."
Mrs. Snowden's sweet, motherly face wore a look of concern.
"How did it happen?" she asked.
Kenneth then gave a graphic account of what had taken place, much to
the interest of his listeners.
"Can't you go and see her, mother, this afternoon?" he said at the
close of his story. "She's an awfully jolly little girl, and plucky,
too."
Mrs. Snowden looked thoughtful for a moment.
"I'll call, dear Ken, certainly," she said; "but I don't know whether I
shall be welcomed or not."
"Mother!"
Four voices said this in unison, for the idea of "mother" not being
welcomed seemed incredible.
To the four young Snowdens, their mother represented all that was
beautiful and sweet, and little wonder that it was so, for her
personality was winsome and charming to a degree.
Of their father they had no vivid recollection, he having died from the
effects of an accident in the hunting-field when Marcia was a wee girl
of three.
"I am sure you will have a welcome, mother," went on Kenneth; "at least
from Cinderella—her grandmother, too, is all right when you know her."
"How silly it sounds to call a child like that 'Cinderella,'" said
Gertie, rather scornfully, for somehow Kenneth's praises of Ella
Russell did not please her at all.
"I don't call it silly!" Here Marcia put her spoke in the wheel. "I
think it sounds pretty."
"Cinderella is my name for her, whether you like it or not," said
Kenneth obstinately.
"And you would like me to be her Fairy Godmother, Ken; isn't that so?"
asked Mrs. Snowden with a smile.
It was no new thing for Kenneth to plead the cause of the lonely or
helpless, for unselfishness and consideration for others were very
prominent traits in his character.
Rupert was by far the more brilliant of the two, so much so, that at
school the twins were called the Hare and the Tortoise. Nevertheless,
as in proof of the truth of the fable, more than once the steady-going
tortoise had outstripped the hare.
That self-same afternoon Mrs. Snowden, bidding the four children keep
out of mischief, wended her way to Rose Cottage to inquire after the
little sufferer. After which she was going to the village, bent on
various errands of mercy.
"I vote we have a bit of fun this afternoon to amuse ourselves,"
said Rupert, soon after his mother's back was turned; "what say you
youngsters to a slide on Barwell's pond?"
Gertie and Marcia looked delighted at the idea, but not so Kenneth.
Barwell's pond was deep, and the ice there was showing signs of a thaw.
He knew, for he had tested it that very morning.
"No, Rupert," he said very decidedly. "Barwell's pond isn't safe; why
not try the Ravensbourne?"
"The Ravensbourne! Pooh, a dirty little ditch like that!" retorted
Rupert. "I dare say it would suit a tortoise like you, but it won't
suit me. What do you say, girls?"
Gertie, who was fully as adventurous as Rupert, scoffed at the idea of
Barwell's pond not being safe, but Kenneth held his own.
"No, Rupert," he said; "we mustn't do it, old chap. I wouldn't have an
accident there for anything."
Rupert here gave Gertie a knowing look, as much as to say, "Hold your
tongue!"
And a few minutes after, Kenneth, thinking the matter settled, went
out of doors with the object of taking Bruno—his own magnificent
Newfoundland—for a run.
As soon as the lad had passed out of earshot, Rupert turned to the
girls.
"Did you ever know such an old woman as Ken is!" he said, looking a
trifle cross. "I believe, because he's the elder twin, he thinks he's
'father' to us all."
Marcia, in Ken's defence, spoke up bravely: "Ken isn't an old woman,"
retorted she; "he's better than any of us, really."
"I don't deny he's a good chap," was Rupert's reply; "but I wish he
wasn't quite so fussy."
"If Ken says the ice isn't safe, I shan't go," declared Marcia.
"Well, he has said so, you little goose; so you'd better stop at home."
This from Gertie.
"No, I shan't; it'll be too lonely. If you go, I shall go."
And so it was settled, and before twenty minutes had elapsed, the three
younger members of the Snowden family, unknown to either Nurse or
Kenneth, were enjoying themselves to their hearts' content on Barwell's
pond.
"What a silly Ken was to be afraid!" cried Gertie, her cheeks glowing
with the exercise. "Why, the ice is as firm as a rock."
"Yes. I only wish I'd brought my skates," replied Rupert. "I will
to-morrow if it lasts like this."
"Do you think mother would mind about our coming here this afternoon?"
said Marcia, who possessed a very tender conscience. "I wish, somehow,
we'd asked her first."
Gertie inwardly wished the same, but fear of Rupert's ridicule kept her
silent.
Meanwhile, Kenneth was having a first-rate ramble with his beloved dog.
He decided to return home by the roads which led round Barwell's Farm,
these being in good condition for a run. This he did, and was very soon
in close quarters to the pond.
Presently, to his horror, a piercing scream rent the air, which was
followed by another, and yet another.
He tore round the bend of the road which hid the pond from view, and
there, in an instant, he realized what had happened. Rupert and Gertie,
looking frantic with despair, were shrieking for aid, as well they
might, for little Marcia had sunk beneath a hole in the ice. For one
moment Kenneth's heart seemed to stand still within him for fear, and
then, realizing that prompt action was necessary, he made his way with
Bruno towards the dread spot.
"Get back!" he cried to Rupert and Gertie, for the ice seemed to be
cracking all around.
With agonized faces the children obeyed, and Kenneth was left to the
work of rescue.
"I'll save her," he added; "leave her to me and Bruno."
At this moment poor little Marcia's white, terrified face appeared
above the water.
She had been sliding apart from the others where, as it happened, the
ice was exceedingly thin, and unable to bear her weight. Kenneth, with
never a thought of his own personal safety, made his way as far as he
dared, and here it was that good old Bruno showed his mettle.
"Save her, Bruno!" he shouted. "Save her; good dog!"
Again little Marcia was rising to the surface, and the huge
Newfoundland, smashing the ice right and left with his weight, plunged
into the cold water. In another minute he had gripped Marcia's frock,
and was making his way back to his master. In less time than it takes
to relate, poor little unconscious Marcia was in Kenneth's strong
keeping. By means of lying full length on the ice, the boy was able
to stretch out his arms to seize the child, and in this position he
dragged her, with great difficulty, beyond danger point.
Meanwhile, Rupert and Gertie, with strained and terrified eyes, were
watching the proceedings from the bank. Their joy, when Kenneth joined
them with Marcia in his arms, was quite unspeakable. Never in all their
lives had they known such a terrible five minutes as those through
which they had just passed.
"We shall have to carry her home," said Kenneth, his voice quivering
with agitation; "she's quite unconscious."
Gertie looked at the little blue-cold face, with its closed eyes, and
then burst into hysterical sobbing.
"Oh, Ken, she's dead; I know she is, and Rupert and I have killed her,"
she cried. "Oh, what shall we do—what shall we do?"
"She's not dead," answered Kenneth gravely. "I know, because I saw her
eyelids move, but we must get her home as quickly as we can."
It was a very sad and subdued little party which wended its way into
the lonely country road towards Berryland Hall. Kenneth found Marcia's
weight too heavy to allow of quick walking. Presently, in rounding a
corner, they came full tilt upon Dr. Soames, who was driving in his
roomy, old-fashioned carriage towards the village.
In a moment the horse was brought to a standstill, and the doctor
speedily alighted.
"Hullo!" said he. "What's wrong with Marcia?"
He had known the children from babyhood, and in spite of their many
faults and, at times, harum-scarum ways, was much attached to them all.
The children's relief at seeing the doctor was unbounded.
"Marcia's been very nearly drowned," vouchsafed Gertie hysterically,
"and we're taking her home. Oh, please, doctor dear, see if you can't
do something for her."
In a trice the good man took her from Kenneth's keeping, and was very
soon feeling her pulse, with an anxious expression on his kind, clever
face.