NOT A MOMENT TOO SOON
"Oh, oh!" Betty almost sobbed, as they stumbled on over stumps and
fallen logs. "If the boys can only get there in time--if they only can!"
As Allen was the first to start, so he was also the first to reach the
water's edge. He was just in time to see two hands above the surface of
the water--two hands clutching in anguish.
As he rid himself of his shoes in frantic haste, there was one thought
and one only in his mind--to reach the helpless owner of those hands and
bring her back to life and hope. He was sure it was a girl--those little
appealing hands could belong to no other.
The next moment he was in the water, swimming desperately toward the
point where he had seen the hands disappear.
Oh, he would never reach it! The water seemed to be some living thing,
pushing him; driving him back to the shore in spite of himself! His
muscles seemed weighted with lead, his sodden clothing dragged upon him
mercilessly! Oh, he would never reach her in time--he couldn't!
Then a wild, hot thought flashed through his consciousness, searing it
like a flame. Now was no time to say he could not! He must! _He must!_ A
life depended on his ability to reach that spot when the girl came to
the surface again--if indeed she ever did. Ah, perhaps what he had seen
had been the last time. Then he must dive, dive, dive until he found
her, even though he lose his own life in the attempt.
But no--there right before him so near that he could almost touch it, a
figure rose to the surface, struggling faintly.
With one supreme effort Allen forged ahead and grasped the skirt of the
girl's bathing suit as she sank for the last time beneath the surface.
"Thank God!" he murmured, as he raised the girl's head, with its mass of
tangled hair, above the water. "Oh, thank God!"
As he turned and started to swim slowly back to shore with his burden,
he almost ran into the other three boys who had followed close upon his
heels.
"Oh, you've got her, have you?" said Frank, unutterable gladness in his
voice. "I was sure you would be too late."
"It may be yet," said Roy, "if we don't get her to shore pretty quick.
Here, let me take her, old man--you're all tuckered out."
Allen willingly released his burden, and they swam as quickly as they
could to the shore.
They found the girls waiting for them, with white, strained faces.
"Oh, oh!" cried Grace, as they lifted the poor little inert body on to
the bank. "Oh, do you suppose she is dead?"
"Well, she will be if we don't hurry pretty fast," said Betty, her voice
trembling but determined. "Boys, look about and see if you can find
anything round and hard that we can use in place of a barrel. Oh, do
hurry! Mollie, you take her other arm and move it up and down--that's
the way--hard--hard."
Mollie did as she was told and in less time than seemed possible the
boys returned bringing with them part of a fallen log. This Betty
declared was the very thing.
For half an hour they worked over the unconscious form and more than
once during that time, they had almost given up hope of bringing back
the spark of life. Then, all at once, a change took place--the ashy look
of her face gave way to a faint tinge of color--the blue lips parted in
something very like a sigh, and her hands, which had been lying inert
and lifeless at her side, twitched almost imperceptibly.
"Oh, she's coming back! she's coming!" cried Amy almost in tears. "Oh, I
was sure she was dead!"
"Hush," Betty cautioned her in a whisper. "I think she knows what we are
talking about," then bending over the girl she said very gently: "Do you
feel better, dear?"
Slowly the eyelids fluttered, and the eyes gazed vaguely up into Betty's
sweet ones. The lips moved and Betty bent down closer to listen.
"I don't know you, do I?" the words were almost inaudible. "I--I--don't
seem to remember----"
"Don't try, my dear," said Betty soothingly, while two tears made their
way down her face, only to be dashed away impatiently. "You have been
through a terrible experience, and you don't have to think very hard
just now--there is plenty of time."
Slowly, understanding replaced the vague wonder in the girl's eyes, and
she reached out with an unsteady hand to touch Betty's white dress.
"I wanted to be sure you were real," she explained, smiling wistfully.
"I was afraid you might vanish. Will you help me to remember?" she
pleaded.
Betty's warm heart went out to the girl, and when she spoke her voice
was full of pity and tenderness.
"I'll help you as far as I can," she promised. "You were swimming and
something happened that made you cry for help. Luckily we happened to be
near and one of the boys got you and brought you back to land. And here
you are getting strong and well again," she finished brightly.
"Well, whoever you are, you're a dear," said the stranger, the emphasis
showing how quickly she was gaining strength. "I remember now all about
it. Mother and dad have told me over and over that I must not come over
here alone; but the day was perfect for a swim and no one else would
come, so I slipped off by myself. I was swimming all right, and then I
was taken with cramps. Oh, oh, it was terrible!" and she covered her
face with her hands to shut out the memory.
"Don't think of it," said Amy compassionately, kneeling down beside the
girl and taking the cold hand in hers. "It's all over now, and you are
safe and sound. Try just to remember that."
The girl looked up wonderingly at the sweet girlish faces gathered about
her. "I think you must be a--a company of angels," a sharp sob broke
the attempt at a laugh--for she was still very weak. "You are all so
good to me I----"
"You would have done the same for any of us," said Betty, trying hard to
keep her voice matter-of-fact. "So you needn't thank us for it. How are
you feeling--better?"
"A great deal," answered the girl, with a grateful glance toward Betty.
"I almost feel as if I could stand up."
"If you want to try, one of the boys will help you," Grace suggested,
turning to the latter, who had been standing several feet back from the
little group, natural delicacy forbidding them to intrude.
But now, being thus appealed to for help, they stepped forward like one
person, offering assistance. They helped the girl to her feet and
steadied her as she stood, weak and trembling.
She looked from one to the other with a wan little smile on her lips.
"Which one of you have I to thank for--for saving me?" she asked.
"None of us," said Roy, with an attempt at gallantry which was rendered
funny by his extremely sodden aspect. "It was a pleasure."
Noting the girl's bewilderment, Betty hastened to explain. "They all did
it," she said; "but if credit is due to any one of them it must be given
to Allen for reaching you first."
"Nonsense!" said Allen, abashed at being brought into the limelight. "I
was nearer than the other fellows, that's all. What's the use of talking
about it, anyway?"
"There is a good deal of use, I think," the girl answered softly. "If
you people hadn't been so good and kind to me, I would have----" she
paused before the word, and shivered again in her weakness.
"Don't think of it any more," Betty urged. "Now, what you most need is
rest. If we could get you back to our cottage or, perhaps, to your own
people----" she paused questioningly.
"Oh, please," said the girl, "if you could only get me back to the
hotel, you don't know how grateful I would be. Mother and dad will be
crazy."
"If we were only nearer our bungalow, we might take you back there and
then send word to your mother and father," said Mollie, thoughtfully.
"But I guess it is just about as far one way as the other."
"Yes, the best thing we can do," Mrs. Irving decided, "is to get her as
quickly as possible to the summer colony. That is where you come from,
isn't it?" she asked.
The girl nodded. All this time she had been standing, supported on
either hand by Roy and Will. But now Allen had a suggestion to make.
"We could make a seat," he said, "and carry her the rest of the distance
to the colony. The sooner we start the better it will be."
On this plan they agreed. Very naturally the girl was strainingly eager
to relieve the anxiety of her parents--to let them know she was safe
again.
Allen and Frank, being the stronger of the boys, volunteered to carry
the slight girl--she was young, scarcely sixteen--for the first half
mile. Then the other two boys were to carry her the rest of the
distance.
In a moment the little procession was formed, and it started off for the
woods, toward the summer colony. Allen and Frank moved in front with
their burden, followed by the four girls and Mrs. Irving, while Roy and
Will brought up the rear.
The boys were wet to the skin, and even on a scorching day in August
that is anything but a pleasant sensation. Then, too, the way was rough,
and the briers and brambles along the path scratched their hands and
tore at their clothing. Ordinarily all these petty annoyances would have
tended toward making them irritable and cross, but on this day all such
trifles passed over their heads unnoticed. For had they not between
them done a marvelous thing? To save one life--to have brought back from
eternity one little soul--was there not joy enough in that to last them
all their days? The girls thought there was.
After a walk that seemed endless, Will called out to the boys in the
front: "Isn't it time for relief work, Allen? We must have traveled more
than half a mile."
"We're not tired," Allen shouted back. "The hotel is right ahead--we can
carry her for the rest of the way."
"Just as you say," Roy answered. "But we are ready whenever you want
us."
"All right," called Allen. "We may be glad of your help yet;" and so the
little party went on.
A few moments later they heard voices directly ahead, and Anita--for
that, she had said, was her name--raised her voice excitedly. "They are
probably coming in search of me," she cried, cheeks flushing with the
hope of it. "I knew they would! Oh, I knew it! Dad! Conway!" she called.
"Nita! where are you?" a voice shouted back, unutterable relief
vibrating in every syllable. "Call again!"
Anita obeyed with a will. "Just keep on the way you are coming. I'm all
right, but please hurry!"
Then the two relief parties came face to face. Frank and Allen set the
girl gently upon her feet and her father caught her in his arms. "You're
safe!" he murmured over and over again. "My little girl!" and the others
turned away before the depth of his emotion.
His weakness lasted only a moment, then recovering his self-control he
handed Anita over to the affectionate bear hugs of an elder brother, and
turned to his daughter's rescuers.
"Madam," he said to Mrs. Irving, "if you will tell me to whom I am
indebted for Anita's safe return, I will try to thank him or her or all
of you as the case may be. Although thanks at this time seem a small
return for such a service."
"I am sure none of us wish any thanks for whatever little help we may
have been able to render your daughter," Mrs. Irving answered, with
grave courtesy. "We can only thank a kind fate for leading us within
hearing distance of her appeal for help. The rest is simply what you and
your son would have done for any of us had we been in similar danger."
"That doesn't make what you have done any the less splendid," Anita's
brother broke in impulsively, holding his sister as though he would
never let her go again. "Anita is tired now, but when we hear the whole
story, I know we are going to be even more grateful to you than we were
before--eh, Anita?"
"Oh, they were wonderful to me," said the girl, her eyes shining like
stars. "If it hadn't been for them--I don't dare--think----" and again
her hand flew to her eyes to shut out the horror of that awful moment.
Suddenly all Mrs. Irving's mother instinct rose to the fore, and she
spoke impulsively. "Take the child home," she begged; "what she needs
more than anything else is rest. You can see she is at the breaking
point."
Mr. Benton looked at his daughter, who indeed was trembling like a leaf
in her brother's arms, and saw the truth of the statement. "You are
right," he said slowly. "We can't get Anita home too soon." Then,
turning once more to Mrs. Irving, he added, while his eyes traveled over
the group of girls and boys behind her: "Although we haven't time now to
become better acquainted, we are going to stay here the rest of the
summer, and if you expect to remain our neighbors----"
"Yes, father," broke in Anita, "they live at the bungalow at the other
end of the island, and they have already invited Conway and me to visit
them. When shall we go, Con?"
"As soon as you are able, sister dear," Conway Benton said fondly. "I'll
be glad to go any time. Now we will have to get you home."
So, after many words of mutual understanding and friendliness, they
parted and went on their separate ways.
"I guess we shall have just time to get the fish and reach the bungalow
before dark," said Mrs. Irving, as our party started to retrace their
steps with weary feet and joyful hearts.
It was not till they had nearly reached the fishing pool that Allen
thought of his big fish.
"It was wicked to let that beauty go," he said, gazing ruefully into the
pool. "He was the king of them all."
"Yes, but just see what you accomplished," Betty said at his elbow,
softly. "What you did to-day is worth a million fish."
"Yes, and there are plenty more where that came from," he added, smiling
down at her. "Now let's hike along home--I am getting hungry."