He was taking a walk a few miles from his home, not far from the Forest Church. When he came near the farm of "Les Marches," he perceived a man, who, seated on a branch, was sawing it. This branch projected over a quarry which was filled with water.
Suddenly, the branch gave way, and Mr. Rougeant (such was this man's name), fell into the water.
Frank at once ran towards the spot, taking off his coat as he hastened along. He was a good and plucky swimmer. When he came near the quarry, the drowning man was struggling for dear life. Frank seized the position in a moment. He saw that it would be useless to jump into the water, because, when once in, he would not be able to reach the edge of the quarry, for the water's surface was quite four feet below that of the ground. There was not a moment to lose. The man had already gone down twice; he was coming up for the second time. Frank took his coat in one hand, and, leaning over the edge of the quarry at the risk of falling in himself, he caught hold of a tuft of grass with the other hand, and awaited the drowning man's appearance.
The farmer rose to the surface, struggling. His eyes were dilated, his whole countenance presented a frightened and imploring appearance.
He uttered a cry, 'twas a cry in which he poured forth all his soul; his last and supreme appeal to heaven and earth; but one word, but ah! what a deep prayer to one, what an earnest appeal to the other, were centred in that word: "Help."
"Seize this, seize this," cried Frank.
The drowning man saw the dangling sleeve, his last chance of salvation. Frantically he clutched at it. Ah! he has missed it. No, as he was going down for the third time he threw out his arm once more. It was a forlorn hope, but it was successful. He caught hold of the coat with both his hands and raised himself. He found a creek in which he placed his foot, and with Frank's manly help, was soon extricated from his perilous position.
Mr. Rougeant was panting for breath, and exhausted, but saved from a watery grave.
Frank bent over the man he had rescued, dried his face and took off his boots, examining him meanwhile. Mr. Rougeant, whom we did not describe when we first met him, was a man of medium height. He had broad shoulders, a powerful chest, an almost square head and a formidable nose. Under his nasal organ, there bristled a short moustache.