"Thank God, oh mother, mother!"
He could say no more. Unspeakable joy choked his utterance. He kissed her hands, her face, and her wet robes.
"Mother, mother, tell me what has happened! You are cold—you tremble—all your clothes are wet—your bonnet is off—that dear pale face, oh mother, you have been in danger, and I not there!"
His love gave her strength. She took his head between her trembling hands, and kissed him again and again on the forehead.
"Oh, yes, my Ralph, I have been very near death—but with all this to live for, God would not let me die."
"No, no, he could not make us so wretched. Oh, mother, what would home be without you? It is only an hour or two since we missed you; but those hours were full of desolation. Tell me—tell me how it was!"
"They did it—they will tell you—I was in the depths of the river, but they drew me out."
"They, my brother James, and that blessed old rogue, Ben Benson, did they save you, mother, while I—I, your only son—was dreaming at home? Oh, James, must I thank you for my mother, with all the rest!"
"Thank God, Ralph, for He has saved your mother!"
His voice was impressive and solemn. It seemed like a rebuke to the ardent gratitude of the young man.