“No, no. I will tell you now. One morning, about a month ago, the first pleasant day after a week of rain, we started off along the bank of the river to see if the flood had carried 200away our raft–the new one. Just out there, in the woods, not far from here, I stepped to the edge of the bank and looked down at the water. The river was higher than we had ever seen it,–fuller, swifter, with logs and bushes in it. Even big trees came along, all rushing to the sea at an awful speed.”
“Yes, I know that river in spring. The water is yellow, and with a frightful current,–fascinating to watch, but it terrifies.”
Elinor nodded. “Fascinating to watch, yes. But Pats told me–”
“Pats?”
“My friend. His name was Patrick.”
“And Pats is the little name–the familiar–for Patrick?”
“Sometimes.”
“Ah, I never knew that! But pardon me. Please go on.”
“He told me to come back–that the bank was undermined by the river and might give way. He said: ‘Whoever enters that river to-day leaves hope behind.’ At the very instant I started back the earth under me gave way, and–and, well, I went down to the river and under the water–an awful distance. I thought I should never come up again. But I did come 201up at last, gasping, half dead, several yards from the shore. The current was carrying me down the river, but I saw Pats on the bank above, watching me. His face was pale and he was hurrying along to keep near. Oh, how I envied him, up there, alive and safe!”
“Poor child! I can well believe it!”