“That’s right,” said my father, cheerfully. “Mind how you go, my lad. It will stretch your legs. Take hold of Hannibal; don’t slip and get a ducking.”
He said all this cheerily, and I knew it was to encourage us all; but as I passed by him, stepping right over his legs, he whispered, “Speak cheerily to the poor woman.”
“Yes, father,” I whispered back.
“Don’t keep him, Sarah,” said my father. “I want to come there myself; I shall swim by your other side.”
She did not answer, and I crept by Hannibal and then over Pomp, who gave me a hug, his teeth chattering as he said—
“Oh, I say, Mass’ George, I so dreffle cold. Water right up a-top.”
The next moment I was seated again on the ridge, feeling that the water really was right up to the top, as Sarah’s cold arms closed round me, and her wet face was pressed to mine as she kissed me.
“Good-bye; God bless you, my darling!”
“Don’t, don’t talk like that,” I said. “We’ll all mount the tree, and the water will go down.”
A piteous, despairing sigh came into my ear, and I felt Morgan’s hand seek mine, and give me what I knew was meant for a farewell grip.