Rather mortified at his defeat, and indignant also, James sullenly rowed to the shore at the point opposite little Jimmy’s humble home. His mother was on the bank, looking anxiously for her lost boy.
“It’s me, mother,” said Jimmy, his tear-begrimed face lighting up with joy.
“We’ve got Jimmy safe, Mrs. Grady,” called out Tom, cheerfully. “He tumbled into the river, and is wet through. You’d better take off his wet clothes, or he’ll get cold.”
“The saints be praised!” exclaimed the poor woman, fervently. “I thought the poor boy was drowned. I’m sure I’m very thankful to you, young gentlemen, for taking so much trouble with a poor woman’s boy. How could you run away so, Jimmy, darlint?”
“I didn’t mane to tumble in,” said Jimmy, as Tom helped him over the side into his mother’s arms.
“Thank you kindly, gentlemen,” said Mrs. Grady, repeating her thanks, but only Tom responded.
The other two regarded the poor woman scornfully.
“Thank Heaven! we’ve got rid of that beggar,” said James. “I don’t mean to let one into my boat again. I shall have to have it washed out.”
“Whenever either of you gets tired, I’ll row,” said Tom.
“I’m tired,” said Edwin. “It’s hard rowing up stream!”