SCOUTS TO THE RESCUE
On the outskirts of the village a mill-wheel droned lazily as the boys
swung at scout's stride down the road. Suddenly the drone died away,
and by the time the comrades were abreast of the quaint old wooden
water-mill the wheel was still, and its day's work was ended.
The hatches were raised, and the water, no longer turned to its task,
was pouring at a swift race into a pool below. The race was crossed by
a small wooden bridge with a single handrail, and over the rail hung a
little girl, about seven or eight years old, watching the swiftly
running water.
As the scouts came in sight of the child a strange thing happened. The
little girl straightened herself and held the rail firmly by both
hands. Then, her eyes still fixed on the racing water, she began to
swing slowly from side to side. She gave a start and tried to run
across the narrow bridge, but fell upon her hands and knees. Here she
began to swing again from side to side, rocking farther over at every
swing. The foaming, swift-running race had fascinated her, had dizzied
and bewildered her, and was swiftly drawing her to itself. She was now
below the single handrail, and there was nothing to prevent her
toppling into the darting mill-race.
'She'll be in!' shouted Dick, and the two scouts rushed at full speed
to a wicket-gate where a path ran from the little bridge to the road.
Chippy was through first, and flew like a greyhound for the bridge.
Dick was a little behind. The Raven sprang on to the bridge and made a
snatch at the little girl's frock. His hand was darting out when she
rolled over and fell, and he missed his grip by inches. The child's
body was at once whirled away down the race.
Chippy flung off his haversack, and was about to leap when Dick yelled:
'No, no, Chippy! It's mere madness to jump into the race. This way!
this way!'
The Wolf tore along the margin of the race, casting off haversack,
jacket, and hat as he ran. At the foot of the torrent the little girl
had been whirled out into the pool, and was just sinking as Dick flew
up. With all the impetus of his run he shot out from the bank and
clove the water with a long swift dive. His eyes were open, and he saw
a dark mass slowly sinking in front of him. He made a swift stroke,
and had a good handful of clothes in his right hand. With his left arm
and his feet he struck out for the surface, and was up in an instant.
The tail of the race set up a strong current which swept inshore, and
this current caught rescuer and rescued and brought them up at a point
where Dick was in reach of Chippy's patrol staff. Chippy, who had seen
his comrade's idea, had followed, and was now ready to lend a hand.
'Here, Dick!' he shouted, and stretched out his strong stick. Dick
seized it, and Chippy drew both inshore.
'Take her first,' gasped Dick. 'There's no bottom; the bank goes
straight down.'
He seized a tuft of rushes springing at the edge of the water and
supported himself, while Chippy lifted the little girl out of the
water, and laid her on the bank. In a second Dick was beside him.
Relieved of the weight of the child, Dick swung himself up and
scrambled out nimbly.
As he shook himself, an elderly man in white dusty clothes ran across
the bridge and down the bank towards them. It was the miller. The
shouts of the boys had called him to the mill-door, and he had seen the
plucky rescue. He ran up trembling and white-faced, too shaken for the
moment to speak. The little girl was his grand-daughter, the child of
his only son.
Chippy looked up sharply as he came.
'Wheer's the nearest place wi' a fire an' a woman in it?' cried the
Raven.
The miller pointed to his house, a little behind the mill, and shaded
by a grove of chestnut-trees.
'Ah! I didn't see it at fust,' said Chippy, and he caught up the
little girl in his wiry arms, and hurried for the bridge. He crossed
it with speedy foot, and Dick and the miller followed. The door of the
house was open, and Chippy marched straight in and laid his burden on
the hearth in front of a blazing wood-fire. The miller's wife came
downstairs at that moment, and uttered a cry of alarm.
'What's come to Gracie?' she said.
'Your little gell, eh?' said the Raven. 'She tumbled into the race,
an' my mate fetched her out. She's more frightened nor hurt, I
shouldn't wonder. She worn't in above a minnit.'
He left the child to her grandmother's care, and went out to meet Dick
and the miller. The old man was thanking Dick with a voice which still
quavered, for he had received a great shook.
'Don't worry,' said Chippy cheerfully; 'she'll soon be all right. Th'
old lady's lookin' arter her. Now, Dick, wheer are ye goin' to dry
yerself?'
'Come into the mill,' cried the old man. 'There's a good fire in the
drying-kiln.'
'That'll do,' said the Raven, 'an' if ye'll kindly oblige wi' a blanket
or suthin' to wrap him in while his things are a-dryin', that'll be all
right.'
'Ay, sure, anythin' I've got ye're more than welcome to,' said the
miller. 'I'll niver forget what ye've a-done this day. How I could
ha' faced my son if aught had happened I don't know, an' that's truth.'
He took the scouts into the mill, and then hurried away to the house.
Dick stripped off his dripping clothes, and the comrades wrung out all
the wet they could before they hung them over the kiln.
'I can manage as soon as my shorts are dry,' said Dick. 'I chucked
away the coat and haversack with the spare things in them, and they're
dry now.'
The miller came in with a big blanket, and Dick wrapped himself in it,
while Chippy ran off to collect the traps they had flung aside at the
moment of the rescue. When he came back he began to laugh at sight of
Dick.
'Now, Wolf,' he said, 'if yer 'ad a few feathers to stick in yer hair,
ye'd look just like some big Injun sittin' outside his tent.'
'Outside his wigwam,' grinned Dick. 'Well, it's jolly comfortable
inside a blanket, anyhow. You're pretty wet, Chippy.'
'Yus; the water run on to me a bit off the little gell,' said Chippy.
'I'll stand up to the kiln, and soon get dry.'
The miller had gone away again, and this time he returned with a jug of
steaming tea, two cups and saucers, and a plate heaped high with food.
A drap o' meat an' hot drink will do ye good,' he said, an' ye can peck
away while the clo'es do dry.'
Chippy chuckled. 'How's yer tender conscience?' he murmured to the
Wolf. 'Fair enough for us to tek' this, ain't it?'
'Fair enough?' cried the astonished miller, who had caught the remark.
'Well, what a man ye must think me! I'd give a bite an' a sup to
anybody; an' after what ye've done, I'd pull the house down to please
ye.'
'It's aw' right,' cried the Raven hastily. 'I don't mean wot you mean.
It was only a bit of a joke wi' my pardner.'
'Oh, ay, a joke--well,' said the miller; 'but ye're welcome, an' more
than welcome.'
'How's the little girl coming on?' cried Dick, in order to turn the
subject.
'Bravely, bravely,' cried the old man. 'She'd swallowed a tidy drap o'
water, an' felt pretty queer. But she's comin' round now. How did ye
come to see her?'
Dick related the story of the child's fall, and the old man declared
he'd put more rails to the bridge.
''Twor' the runnin' water carried her beyond herself,' he said. 'Ay,
sure, that wor' it.'
Before the boys finished their meal the threatened storm broke. There
was a tremendous downpour of rain, thundering on the roof and lashing
the windows.
'I'd just as lieve be agen this kiln-fire as out in that,' remarked the
Raven. 'Seems to me we'll put up here to-night.'
'I dare say he'll let us turn in on his hay, or something like that,'
said Dick. 'We'll ask him when he comes back.' For the miller had
gone again to the house in his anxiety to see how his grandchild was
getting on.
Chippy turned the shorts, which had been put in the best drying-place,
and felt them.
'They'll be dry in no time now,' he said, and returned to the jug for
the final cup of tea which it contained.
'At the rate we're going on,' laughed Dick, 'we could stop out a month
on our ten shillings, Chippy.'
'It 'ud suit me proper,' said the Raven, cutting his bread against his
thumb with his jack-knife. The miller had brought them knives from the
house, but the scouts preferred to use their own.
The old man was gone a long while, and when he returned Dick had got
into his shorts and dry things, and was himself again.
'Ah!' said the miller, 'now p'raps ye'll step across to the house. My
missis do want to see ye an' thank ye.'
The scouts did not look very happy over this, for they both hated any
fuss. But when they got into the big kitchen they found it was all
right. The miller's wife was not a fussy person at all, and they were
at home with the old lady in a minute. The little girl was sitting
beside the fire in a big chair. She looked very pale, but was quite
herself again.
''Tis a new thing to her, you see,' explained the miller's wife.
'She's my son's child, and lives over to Baildon, forty mile away. I
don't know as ever she'd seen the race a-runnin' afore--leastways, from
the bridge.'
'It made my head swing,' put in the child.
'Ay, it turned her head all swimmy like,' said the miller. 'Well, it's
a merciful providence there wor' brave hearts at hand to save ye.
Now,' he went on to the scouts, 'I can see by yer knapsacks an' sticks
as ye be on a sort o' journey through the land.'
'Yes, we're on a scouting tramp,' said Dick.
'Ah!' said the miller, and rubbed his ear.
Dick saw he did not quite understand, and he entered on a short
explanation of their movements.
'Walkin' from place to place, be ye?' said the old lady. 'Then ye must
stay wi' us to-night, an' I'll see ye have a good bed.'
A good bed! The scouts looked at each other in dismay. Perish the
thought! They were not out to sleep in good beds.
'Haven't you a hay-loft?' asked Dick.
'Yes,' replied the miller. 'What of that?'
Again Dick explained. The miller and his wife were rather puzzled at
the idea of the boys preferring the hay-loft, but they were willing
that the scouts should do as they pleased; and that night the two
comrades rolled themselves in their blankets, and slept snugly side by
side in a nest of soft sweet hay.
The next morning they were up bright and early, intending to slip off
before the people of the mill were astir; but they reckoned without the
miller, who was up earlier still, and insisted that they should eat a
good breakfast before they started. And when at last they struck the
trail once more, they carried a huge packet of sandwiches the miller's
wife had cut for them.