Letty and the Twins

by Helen Sherman Griffith

“Are you quite sure you know how?” insinuated Billy. He thought he saw signs of weakening in Christopher’s resolution and did not want to lose any fun.

“Of course I’m sure,” retorted Christopher indignantly. “Just you hold on and I’ll show you!”

“Well, if you boys are set on doin’ it, I guess I’ll have to go in too, to keep you out of mischief,” drawled Jo Perkins, untying his cravat as he spoke. His remonstrances had not been very strong, but they had satisfied his conscience.

The second bath proved to be even more fun than the first. The water was delightfully cool and refreshing; Christopher soon lost the last bit of dread he had had of going under. He and Billy began to swim a race across the pond and back. They had crossed, had splashed into the shallow water to touch a certain pine branch that had been chosen as the half-way mark (like the first stake in croquet) and were starting back.

Billy was in the lead, but Christopher was gaining on him, when all at once he felt a queer sensation in his arm, as if someone had struck him a sudden blow. The pain was intense and increased every moment. Christopher doubled up his elbow involuntarily and stopped moving his other arm, forgetting in his sudden discomfort that he was not on solid ground. Naturally, he went under. His mouth being open at the time, he swallowed quantities of water and did not find it pleasant. He gasped and splattered and tried to call for help, but the water filled his mouth and nose and eyes. He could not breathe, much less speak. And all the while the pain in his arm increased. His struggles pushed him upward again and as his head appeared above the water he gave a wailing cry. If he had had presence of mind enough to stand upright on the sandy bottom, his head would have been almost entirely out of water. But he was in great pain and very badly frightened. Was he drowning, he wondered? And if so, would everybody be sorry? Would grandfather blame him for having gone to the swimming hole without permission? He hoped he would not be held up to other boys as a sad example of disobedience. Where in the world were Billy and Perk and why did they not come to his assistance? Oh! Oh! Another effort to shout and another nasty dose of water.

Drowning people were supposed to review their whole past life, he remembered. He could think of nothing except that he had learned in school that Socrates had met his death by being compelled to drink hemlock. There was hemlock enough in this water to kill a horse, Christopher felt sure. If he escaped from drowning, therefore, he was sure to be poisoned. It was certain death however you looked at it, and he gave up struggling. The pain in his arm made him feel weak and numb.

Just then he was grabbed by rough but friendly hands, his head propped above water and his body propelled speedily to shore. It had been a very few seconds from the time Perk had seen him go under and had swum out and seized him by the hair. So short had the time been, indeed, that Billy Carpenter did not know that anything had gone amiss until he reached the goal of the race and turned to jeer his victory. Then he saw Perk wading swiftly through the shallow water, half carrying, half pushing Christopher before him. The boy was almost unconscious when they got him to shore, and he lay in a heap on the pine-needles, his cramped arm bent pitifully beneath his body. Perk threw a coat about him and went to work in a businesslike, capable way to revive the boy.

“He’s swallowed an awful lot of water, and it has made him sick,” Perk explained to Billy. “It’s that right arm that’s cramped. Haul it out straight, Bill, and pound it. Never mind if he hollers; it’ll help bring him to. Keep poundin’ and don’t let him double it up again. We’ve got to get the muscles limbered up.”

It took half an hour’s hard work to restore Christopher to anything like his usual cheerful self. Then they all realized with a pang how late it was. The sun was so near setting that it had already darkened the woods. In a panic of alarm the boys harnessed the horse and drove as rapidly as they dared in the growing dusk, down the winding wood road.

“There is no use in going into the town,” said Jo Perkins as they emerged from the gloom of the trees into the lighter twilight of the open road. “Jane will have got home somehow before this. Letty’s taken her home, most likely. I shouldn’t be surprised if they had searching parties out for us,” he added, eyeing the reddening western sky.