“I guess not, Uncle,” replied Sam, who seemed excited, and then nodding his head toward the river, said, in an undertone. “Something out of gear down there. A boy just told me a woman was wading in the water trying to find her drowned baby—and—and I thought”—
“What! Who do you think she can be, eh? It cannot be”—And they exchanged significant glances.
Sam tapped his head impressively. “The boy said she plunged her hands in the water, talked queer, and heard her call ‘Dorothy.’”
“If it should be her! Good God! And John must be hereabouts, too. Let us go to her at once. Quietly, make no fuss. Come along,” and Mr. Harris turned hastily.
“What is the trouble now, James?” called out Mrs. Harris.
“No time,” was all the satisfaction she got, and the two hastened down to the shingle.
“Dear me! Something serious has happened, I am sure!” and seeing a boy standing irresolute on the walk, addressed him:
“Here boy, do you know what is going on down there?”
“A crazy woman,” the boy answered, drawing near. “She’s wading in the river.”
“Poor thing!” sympathetically exclaimed Mrs. Harris. “What is she wading in the river for? Did you hear her speak?”