'Here, Dick!' he shouted, and stretched out his strong stick. Dick seized it, and Chippy drew both inshore.
'Take her first,' gasped Dick. 'There's no bottom; the bank goes straight down.'
He seized a tuft of rushes springing at the edge of the water and supported himself, while Chippy lifted the little girl out of the water, and laid her on the bank. In a second Dick was beside him. Relieved of the weight of the child, Dick swung himself up and scrambled out nimbly.
As he shook himself, an elderly man in white dusty clothes ran across the bridge and down the bank towards them. It was the miller. The shouts of the boys had called him to the mill-door, and he had seen the plucky rescue. He ran up trembling and white-faced, too shaken for the moment to speak. The little girl was his grand-daughter, the child of his only son.
Chippy looked up sharply as he came.
'Wheer's the nearest place wi' a fire an' a woman in it?' cried the Raven.
The miller pointed to his house, a little behind the mill, and shaded by a grove of chestnut-trees.
'Ah! I didn't see it at fust,' said Chippy, and he caught up the little girl in his wiry arms, and hurried for the bridge. He crossed it with speedy foot, and Dick and the miller followed. The door of the house was open, and Chippy marched straight in and laid his burden on the hearth in front of a blazing wood-fire. The miller's wife came downstairs at that moment, and uttered a cry of alarm.
'What's come to Gracie?' she said.
'Your little gell, eh?' said the Raven. 'She tumbled into the race, an' my mate fetched her out. She's more frightened nor hurt, I shouldn't wonder. She worn't in above a minnit.'