Chapter Four.
Dick to the Rescue.
“Gracious heavens! The boy will be drowned!” exclaimed Mrs Gilmour, wringing her hands frantically and rushing forward at once; while Nellie, equally excited, burst into tears, clinging to her aunt’s side. “Oh, what shall I say to his mother? He’s lost; he’s lost!”
“No, he isn’t—not a bit of it; no more drowned than I am,” cried the Captain, laying his hand on Mrs Gilmour’s arm, and putting both her and Nellie back, to prevent any rash impulse on their part. “You just keep as cool as the young rascal must be now! I’ll fish him out in another minute, if you’ll leave me alone; and, he’ll be none the worse, barring a wetting.”
With these words, the spry old gentleman, who was more active than many a younger man, began making his way cautiously down the treacherous slope of the rampart, aided by his trusty malacca cane, poking his stick between the niches of the stonework to act as a stay, and so prevent his slipping on too fast.
But, quick as he was in his movements, hardly had he made a dozen sliding steps down the decline, the action of the whole scene being almost instantaneous, when he felt, rather than saw, some one else glide swiftly past him still more expeditiously; and then, there was another heavy plunge in the
water below, where Bob and Rover were struggling for dear life.