A LIVELY AFTERNOON
There followed an eternity of suspense for those watching for the
reappearance of Dorothy. The missing of the hold she expected to get on
the board and the effort to keep Miss Higley up, together with the
struggle she had gone through, caused the girl to lose all control of
herself. She had sunk instantly without having any opportunity of using
her free arm to keep herself above water.
Seeing this Rose-Mary and Molly, who had climbed out on the base of the
chute, jumped into the lake again, making for the spot where they saw
Dorothy go down the second time.
But before they could reach it they saw Dorothy’s head above the surface.
She had come up under the chute, in an open square of water, formed by
the four supporting posts of the affair. Cautiously she reached out and
caught hold of a beam. Then another arm was seen to grasp a projecting
plank! Miss Higley was struggling!
She was not dead! Not unconscious!
“Dorothy!” screamed Tavia from shore, as she saw the form of her chum
come to the surface the second time. But Tavia did not see Dorothy wave a
reassuring hand at her as she climbed up on the chute, and helped Miss
Higley support herself across one of the base planks. For Tavia had
fallen unconscious beside Edna, who was only just beginning to show signs
of life under the prompt administrations of Rose-Mary and Dick.
In all this confusion the white-aproned matron forgot to use her
telephone. But, as she now assisted the other girls in working over Edna,
she directed some of the swimmers, who had come to shore, to look after
Tavia.
Lena Berg, the quietest girl of Glenwood, rushed into the bathing office
and telephoned to Central to “send doctors.” Almost before those working
over Edna and Tavia had realized it, and, almost as soon as the throng of
young ladies had started to assist Miss Higley and Dorothy to shore, an
automobile with two doctors in it stopped at the gate. The physicians
were soon working over Tavia and Edna.
A few seconds later Rose-Mary and Molly pulled up to shore in an old boat
they had found anchored near the chute, and in the craft, which they
rowed with a broken canoe paddle, were Dorothy and Miss Higley!
As so often happens that one small accident is responsible for any number
of mishaps, especially where girls or women become panic-stricken, it
seemed now that the rescue of Miss Higley and Dorothy acted like magic to
restore all four victims of the water to their senses, at least, if not
to actual vigor. Tavia and Edna both jumped up as the boat grounded on
the beach, and Miss Higley and Dorothy staggered ashore.
“Be careful,” cautioned one of the physicians, as the teacher was seen to
totter, and almost fall. She was plainly very weak, and, while the
younger doctor looked after Dorothy the other, who was his father, took
Miss Higley into the bathing pavilion office to administer to her there.
Tavia had only fainted. Indeed she had been scarcely able to swim out to
help Edna, not being entirely recovered from her recent nervous fever.
Edna had swallowed considerable water, but it was fresh, and when she had
been relieved of it, and the usual restoratives applied, she, too, was
herself again.
Dorothy insisted there was absolutely nothing the matter with her, but it
was plain that such physical efforts as she had been obliged to make in
her rescue of Miss Higley, must at least exhaust a girl of her frail
physique. So young Dr. Morton insisted on her being assisted in a
“thorough rub.” Then she was given a warm, stimulating drink, and, soon
after that, Dorothy was able to tell what had happened.
An hour later all the brown bathing suits had been discarded, Tavia and
Dorothy had been supplied with dry clothing, and all the Glenwood girls
who had come to Sunset Lake sat on the rocky shore back of the sand,
waiting for the hour to arrive when they must start back to the school.
There was no lack of talk to make the time pass quickly.
Miss Higley seemed the least perturbed of any—she had a way of always
being beyond a mere personal feeling. She never “allowed herself” to
encourage pains or aches; in fact she was one of those strong-minded
women who believe that all the troubles of this life are hatched in the
human brain, and, therefore the proper cure for all ills is the
eradication of the germ producer—sick-thoughts. So, as soon as she felt
her lungs in working order again she “took the defensive” as Tavia
expressed it, and sat up as “straight as a whip,” with her glasses at
exactly the proper pitch and the black cord at precisely the accustomed
dangle.
“Mar-vel-ous!” gasped Dick, aside, giving the long word an inimitable
roll, and, at the same time, bestowing a wondering look on the recently
resuscitated teacher.
“But do tell us,” begged Rose-Mary, “what happened first—of all those
exciting things?”
“I did,” answered Edna Black. “I was shooting the chute to my heart’s
content, when, all of a sudden, I stuck somewhere. Then, after trying
everything I knew how to do to get loose, I said my prayers.”
“Next,” called Rose-Mary, indicating Tavia.
“Well, of course,” began Tavia, “Dorothy and I were not to go near the
water, but when we saw Edna turn up missing we just kicked off our
slippers and, in the language of the poets, ‘got busy.’ I found Ned here,
first shot, stuck in between the two corner boards of the chute posts.
She didn’t need any coaxing to come up, once I untangled her skirt from a
nail which held it fast, and I brought her up without any unnecessary
explanations.”
“And, in the meantime Miss Higley had gone down,” interjected Dorothy.
“That is she went down after Edna first.”
“And came up last,” added the teacher, with a significant nod to Dorothy.
“How did you find Miss Higley, Parson?” Rose-Mary continued to question,
with a view to getting the entire story.
“I found her in a mud hole, held fast, but able to help herself somewhat.
Then I—I got her up—somehow—.”
“Indeed I was almost unconscious until you dragged my head up to the
air,” Miss Higley hastened to say, anxious to give Dorothy her due, for
certainly the rescue was a matter of heroic effort, and Miss Higley,
being heavy, and, at the same time, unable to help herself, gave Dorothy
the most difficult of all the surprising tasks of that eventful
afternoon.
“But when she sank that time—like a stone,” suggested Dick to Dorothy.
“Oh, I merely missed catching hold of a plank and I had to go down—I
couldn’t keep up.”
“Certainly; why not?” put in Nita Brandt, glad to be able to say
something “safe.”
“And you, Lispy,” said Lena to Nita. “You and Adele started the epidemic
with your water wings. Next time make it life preservers.”
The girlish spirits, “bottled up” during the period of worry came out
with a resounding “pop” now, and the walk home proved even pleasanter
than the one to the beach.
“For now,” declared Ned, between her jokes, “we are like the man who
laughed at the ugly cow from inside the fence—he found it much funnier to
laugh at the cow from outside the fence.”