When he saw the boy flung into the water he was standing on the bank, unobserved on account of his color. He recognized Cromwell, for he had been to the drug store only a day or two previous to buy some medicament for the rheumatism which he occasionally suffered from. He knew Robert also.
"What debble's work is dis?" he said to himself. "What's he goin' to kill de boy for? Can't let de poor boy drown, no way."
As he spoke, he flung himself into the water and swam with vigorous strokes toward the place where Robert was struggling.
"Hold up a minute, young massa," he cried, for in his freedom he preserved the language of former days, "hold up a minute, and I'll save yer."
Robert heard this, and it gave him courage to struggle longer. In a short time the negro was at his side and seizing him by the arm, turned and headed for the shore. It was soon reached, and the two stood side by side, both dripping with moisture. Had James Cromwell turned back he might have discovered the rescue, but he did not dare to do so until he reached the opposite side, and then there was nothing to be seen.
"What's all this mean, young massa?" asked Cato, for this was the name of the negro. He had brought no other with him, but one was quite sufficient for his modest requirements.
"I don't know," said Robert. "The man that was with me suddenly seized me round the waist, and flung me into the pond."
"I saw him do it," said Cato. "What made him?"
"That's more than I can tell, unless he is crazy," said Robert.
"Is dis de fust time he try to drown you?" asked Cato.