"How drefful!" said Chris, with wide-open eyes. "Was poor Eliza drownded? Oh, I hope she wasn't! Did she get out? Oh, say yes, Granny! And where did her father and mother call to her from? Right from the house? 'Cause I thought you said she was alone."
But the only answer to his torrent of questions was a gentle snore. The time he had occupied in pouring forth these queries had sufficed to send Eliza's historian asleep.
Chris's little face fell.
"My Granny has gone quite asleep," he remarked with much disappointment. "Now I shall never know if Eliza was drownded or not. P'r'aps she's only pretending. I'll see if her eyes are fast-shut," he added, preparing to put Granny to the test by lifting one of her eyelids.
"Don't do that, Chris," I said hastily. "Come here, I'll tell you the rest of the story."
"Do you know it?" he asked doubtfully.
"I can guess it," I replied, as he crossed the room to my side.
"Then what happened to poor Eliza?" he inquired anxiously; "and did Rover help her? Oh! I do hope he did."
"Well," I started, taking up the story at the point at which Granny had dozed off, "when her father and mother—who were near enough to see what had occurred—realized the danger their little daughter was in, they were filled with horror. It seemed as if they were going to see her die before their eyes; for they were so far off that it looked as if it were not possible to get to her before she sunk. And this is just what would have taken place had not help been at hand. Eliza, her water-lilies, and her disobedient, little heart would have sunk to the bottom of the river for ever, had it not been for—what do you think Chris?"
"I know, I know!" he cried, clapping his hands. "It was Rover; the good dog. He swam after her."