Hazel, while appreciating the wisdom that dictated the caution, could not bring herself to own, in this instance, that such prudence was necessary. She was about to make reply, when excited voices of children, raised in distress, attracted the attention of the three girls, and next moment they were running at full speed toward the spot whence the cries proceeded.
"I am afraid one of them has fallen into the water," Doris panted.
"Leave it to me," Hazel gasped back, "I can swim. They may be only quarrelling."
But a strange fear at her heart gave denial to her words, and urged her on, ever faster. As they neared the bank, a small child emerged from behind the line of willows that edged the water, and sped toward them in wildest distress.
"Bobbie," she sobbed, "oh, he's drownded dead, he's drownded dead."
"Come and show me," Hazel called to the child as she passed, but the little thing only stood wringing her hands.
There were other children upon the bank, however, and Hazel soon learned that Bobbie had risen twice since his immersion, each time lower down the stream. There was no time to lose if she would save the boy's life. Tearing off her hat, she ran several yards lower, so far as she could judge, than the spot where he had been last seen, and, springing into the river, struck out and reached its centre, where the current was strongest, at the same moment that the child's unconscious form rose for the third time and drifted against her. With a little cry of thankfulness, Hazel seized the helpless body, and, careful to keep the head above water, began to return. It was difficult: the current was strong, and she had only the use of one arm; her clothes hampered her terribly; but at length she succeeded in bringing her burden to shore, where many willing hands were held out to rescue. Hazel was panting distressfully, but she did not lose a moment in setting about the task of bringing breath back to the seemingly lifeless body. Phyllis she sent post-haste to the house for brandy, and, bidding the little group of children to stand back, she gave the child into Doris's arms.
"Hold him so," she gasped, "head down, so," and pulling the little tongue well forward, she proceeded to give several smart punches upon the pit of the stomach, thus ridding it of much of the water that the child had swallowed in such large quantities. Then laying him gently upon his back, she continued the work of resuscitation, lifting the arms above the head, round and down to the sides, with slow, rhythmic motion, expanding and contracting the lungs. So engrossed were the two girls, that they were wholly unaware of the fact that a small party was hastening toward them from the house, headed by two young men, who were running some distance in advance. Doris was the first to perceive them, and she gave an exclamation of relief. Hazel never looked up; her eyes were riveted upon the small face, noting its death-like pallor; the purple eyelids; watching, so far in vain, for the first tinge of colour, for the first flicker of the eye-lashes that should tell of returning life.
"Is the brandy coming?" she asked. Her back was well-nigh broken, but she never paused in her labour of love and mercy, did not even wait to wipe her hot brow, or to put back some teasing locks of hair that were dripping into her eyes and down her cheeks. Indeed, she was hardly conscious of aught else, in her growing anxiety, but the fact that life was strangely long in returning to the little frame.
"I can see Phyllis coming," Doris replied, "but there are others much nearer: Digby and—yes, Mr. Charteris, are nearly here. Perhaps they are bringing the brandy."