“Do you hear that?” cried George.
“Hear what? Some one after us again?”
“No; it’s a dog barking!”
“Why, it sounds like Waggie, but it can’t be he. He’s gone to another world.”
“No, he hasn’t,” answered George. He forgot his weakness, and started to run down the bank, in the direction whence the sound proceeded. Watson remained behind; he could not believe that it was the dog.
In the course of several minutes George came running back. He was holding in his hands a little animal that resembled a drowned rat. It was Waggie—very wet, very bedraggled, but still alive.
“Well, if that isn’t a miracle!” cried Watson. He stroked the dripping back of the rescued dog, whereupon Waggie looked up at him with a grateful gleam in his eyes.
“I found him just below here, lying on a bit of rock out in the water a few feet away from the bank,” enthusiastically explained George. “He must have been hurled there, by the current.”
Watson laughed.
“Well, Waggie,” he said, “we make three wet looking tramps, don’t we? And I guess you are just as hungry as the rest.”