On a low point of land formed by a bend in the Willamette, a couple of
boys were playing at what is termed "skipping." The exercise consisted
in throwing a stone so as to make it skim along the surface of the
water in a series of long skips, the greater number of skips attesting
the skill of the thrower. The surface of the river was very smooth and
placid, which was a factor in tempting the boys to the exercise. They
had been at it for some time and, boy-like, in their enthusiasm, had
overdone it, and consequently were beginning to fag, when one of them
suddenly spied an exceptionally smooth, round flat stone, suitable for
the purpose, and stooped to pick it up. The other boy, a short
distance behind him, seeing his opportunity, cried out in a
frolicksome spirit:
"Hi! Gene! Hold, there." And he immediately ran and, placing his two
hands on the stooping boy's back, lightly leaped over him, straddle
fashion, and then himself took a stooping position further on, subject
to a like performance.
At once the sport known as "leap-frog" was entered into with zest by
the boys. It carried them some distance along the river shore, and
they were so engrossed with the new exercise, which sustained in their
case, at all events, the old adage that, "A change of occupation is a
good recreation," as to be entirely oblivious of approaching a
solitary woman dressed in sober gray, sitting on a stump of driftwood
near the water's edge and gazing vacantly on the river.
One of the boys, named Gene, big-limbed, loose-jointed and clumsy, in
doing his turn, and while astraddle the "frog," lost his balance and
tumbled sideways, dragging the under boy over with him. The smaller
boy, named Spike, got to his feet first, and with a fire in his eye,
angrily said: "Youse do it again and I'll smash you one."
"I couldn't help it. It was your fault, anyway, Why didn't you hold
steady," replied Gene.
"You big lubber; youse done it on purpose." said Spike, rubbing his
shin. "I'm not going to play any more," and as he turned away,
muttered to himself: "I've a notion to soak him one."
"Oh, look!" cried Gene. "A woman's agoing in swimming with her clothes
on!" The boys at once forgot their differences, drew close together
and watched her with much curiosity.
"Say, but the water is cold. I was in yesterday and couldn't stay a
minute," said Gene. "Gee, but I got my clothes on quick! I was near
froze."
"She's skeart already; see how she's looking about--must-a lost
somethin'."
"Let's ask her," said Gene.
"Youse shut up, won't you."
"She's saying something. Hear?"
"Sounds like 'Dorothy,'" said Spike. "Look at her dig them hands in
the water."
"Say, she's crazy, sure!" whispered Gene.
At which they drew back awe-struck, yet fascinated by the grotesque
buffoonery inseparable from the insane.
"Somebody'd better go and phone the cops," whispered Spike, excitedly.
"She'll get drowned, and then we'll get in a bar'l of trubble."
"I'll go," said Gene, half frightened, and glad of an excuse to get
away from the uncanny spectacle. "Who's got a phone near here?" he
asked.
"Up at the big house, yonder. Harris'. They's got one, but youse don't
want to leave me here alone with that crazy woman. She's coming
ashore. Kin youse hear what she's saying?" They listened intently.
"I'm sure I saw her," she said in tones strangely pitiful. "Her golden
hair floated on the surface like a silken mesh--then sank down,
down--ah, there it is again." And she outstretched her hand and tried
to grasp something.
"Gone again! Oh! I wish someone would help me get her. I am so tired
and the river is so deep and cold," and as she stepped out from the
water onto the shingle, her frame shivered as with a chill. She sat on
the stump of driftwood, fatigued by exertion.
"Let's go and talk to her," whispered Gene.
"Youse better not. Youse can't tell what them crazy people will do
sometimes. They ack queer mighty sudden."
"Say! She wouldn't hurt anything. Ain't she nice looking! I'll bet she
was kind when she was all right," said Gene.
"Talks of golden hair. Must be her baby drowned has made her crazy,"
said Spike.
"I'm going to speak to her, anyway," and so saying, Gene boldly
approached her.
"Say, lady! What are you looking for?" he asked, as he timidly stood
in front of her.
"Dorothy," she softly answered, and then slowly shifted her wistful
eyes from the water to the boys.
"Whose Dorothy?" asked Spike, with an air of quiet respect, as he
joined Gene and stood in front of her.
"The sweetest babe in all the world. See, in this--her likeness," and
she drew from the bosom of her dress a medallion and held it for the
boys to look at.
"Sure! She's a beaut!" exclaimed Spike, admiringly.
"Say, that picture is just like you," remarked Gene, looking over the
medallion at the face before him.
"Yous dress is wet, Missus," said Spike.
"Were you looking for your baby there?" queried Gene, nodding toward
the river.
She suddenly arose to her feet and listened, meanwhile tenderly
replacing the medallion in her corsage.
"I must not rest longer. The storm will soon be on us. The boat
rocks."
She paused in a listening attitude: "Her voice! I hear it again. She
is calling, 'Mamma, papa, help! Save me!' There! There!"--and she
pointed over the water. "See that golden web glistening in the
sunshine. It's her hair. She's beckoning me! Give me the paddles!--the
paddles, quick!" And then she cried out with a gasp that sounded very
much like a sob: "Save Dorothy!"