Mamma smiled and thanked her, and thought if her dear little girl were to give flowers to every one who loved her she would need a very large garden with a great many blossoms in it.
Mr. Porter knew that Frankie had been in the water, but he had not heard how the accident came about, nor of its after consequences; and now as he saw Fred moving restlessly to ease his aching knee, he asked him how he had been hurt.
Fred told the story of Frankie's ducking, of his own chase after the mischief-makers, and of what had happened to himself.
"Whew—ew—ew!" said Mr. Porter, as he finished, "I am sorry to hear this; sorry enough, sorry enough. Can you tell me what kind of looking boy and girl they were?"
Fred described the boy and girl, as nearly as he could, and Mr. Porter gave another long dismayed whistle.
"Yes, I thought so," he said, "there's no one here about but those two who would have been up to such an ugly trick as that. So, they're back again. I hoped we were rid of them for good and all."
"Who are they?" asked Mr. Bradford.
"Lem and Dolly Owen, sir; as bad a pair, and the children of as bad a father as one could find on a long summer day. Poor neglected creatures, they are to be pitied too; but it is useless to try to do anything for them, for all help is worse than thrown away. They live in a little tumble-down shanty back of the rocks at the lower end of the lake, and a terrible nuisance they are to me and every one in the neighborhood. The father is a drunkard of the worst sort, the mother long since dead, and these two children, liars, vagabonds and thieves, up to every sort of wicked mischief, and a terror to all the children in Chalecoo. They live as they can, by robbing orchards, hen-roosts, dairies and cornfields during the summer; picking up odd bits, and stealing whatever they can lay their fingers on in the winter, half starved and half frozen the most of the time."
"Can nothing be done for them?" asked Mr. Bradford.