“Courage, Becky, courage. You shall be saved.”
She recognized the voice, even in her agony. “O, Harry, Harry! save me, save me!”
Still on and on she swept, and the roar of the dam grew louder and louder. It seemed to sound in her ears like thunder.
“Now, quick, boys, quick! Give me plenty of rope, and hold on strong!”
Harry Thompson kicked off his shoes and threw away his hat. Becky was moving towards him, but ten feet from the bank. He measured the distance with his eye, stepped back a few paces, then ran quickly, and leaped into the water. The best jumper in the county had well calculated his distance. He struck the water close beside Becky. He clasped her quick, she threw her arms about his neck with a scream of joy, and both sank beneath the water.
Then the good, strong fellows pulled with a will, and in a moment Becky and her preserver were safe on the bank. Such a shout as the good fellows sent up, then such a chorus of shouts as the people at the mill joined to theirs, was never before heard in Cleverly.
But the chorus of rejoicing was unheard by Becky, who lay upon the bank insensible. The girls from the mill gathered about her, rubbed her hands, bathed her temples, and used all the customary means of restoration; but yet she lay there cold and still.
Harry became alarmed. She must be taken home at once.
“Small, bring your wagon—quick! Send a man for the doctor—quick!”
Small’s team was standing at the mill door. In a few moments Harry was in the wagon, with Becky in his arms, and one of the “good fellows” was racing down the road, horseback, for the doctor.