While he spoke, Oliver was running to the part of the hill which commanded the widest view of the carr, and Mildred was following at his heels,—a good deal startled by the hares which leaped across her path. There seemed to be more hares now on the hill than she had seen in all her life before. She could not ask about the hares, however, when she saw the brown tent, or a piece of it, flapping about in the water, a great way off, and sweeping along with the current.
“Hark! What was that? Did you hear?” said Oliver, turning very pale.
“I thought I heard a child crying a great way off,” said Mildred, trembling.
“It was not a child, dear. It was a shriek,—a woman’s shriek, I am afraid. I am afraid it is Nan Redfurn, somewhere in the carr. O dear, if they should all be drowned, and nobody there to help them!”
“No, no,—I don’t believe it,” said Mildred. “They have got up somewhere,—climbed up something,—that bank or something.”
They heard nothing more, amidst the dash of the flood, and they fancied they could see some figures moving on the ridge of the bank, far out over the carr. When they were tired of straining their eyes, they looked about them, and saw, in a smoother piece of water near their hill, a dog swimming, and seeming to labour very much.
“It has got something fastened to it,” cried Mildred;—“something tied round its neck.”
“It is somebody swimming,” replied Oliver. “They will get safe here now. Cannot we help them? I wish I had a rope! A long switch may do. I will get a long switch.”
“Yes, cut a long switch,” cried Mildred: and she pulled and tugged at a long tough thorny bramble, not minding its pricking her fingers and tearing her frock. She could not help starting at the immense number of large birds that flew out, and rabbits that ran away between her feet, while she was about it; but she never left hold, and dragged the long bramble down to the part of the hill that the dog seemed to be trying to reach. Oliver was already there, holding a slip of ash, such as he had sometimes cut for a fishing-rod.
“It is Roger, I do believe; but I see nothing of the others,” said he. “Look at his head, as it bobs up and down. Is it not Roger?”