“Yes! Yes! There she is! She can’t swim, either!” cried the boy. “Oh, get her out!”
“Is it your sister?” asked Mrs. Bobbsey, as she put aside some valises and bundles to enable her to get out.
The boy did not answer, but kept shouting and jumping around, meanwhile pointing to the water. Mr. Bobbsey looked over the railing of the bridge, but when he saw no child in the stream, which at this point was wide and deep, he turned to the boy and said:
“What’s the matter with you? There’s no one in there!”
“Yes, there is!” cried the lad. “It’s my cat! She followed me down the road and when an automobile ran close to her on the bridge she tried to climb up on the rail and she fell in! Oh, please get her out before she drowns!”
Mr. Bobbsey looked again, and, sure enough, saw a cat trying to swim to shore. But cats aren’t like dogs. Their fur gets so wet when they are in the water that it is hard for them to get out again. Bert was going to ask why the boy himself didn’t get his own cat out, but when the Bobbsey lad saw how small the other lad was, he held back the question. Instead Bert cried:
“I’ll get her for you!” He ran down off the road toward the edge of the river.
“Be careful!” warned his mother. “You may fall in or get stuck in the mud!”
But Bert was taking no chances. He picked up a piece of tree branch, and, leaning over the edge of the stream, while he held to a bush, he reached the branch out and pulled the poor cat to shore. With pitiful mewings and looking very wet and miserable, the pussy crawled out.
“Oh, thanks!” cried the boy.