“She needs all the air she can get and the more people crowd around her the harder it will be for her,” she said to the father, and to herself she wailed: “Where, where is Breck?” and she prayed: “Oh, God, send Breck.”
And Breck came at that moment. Laden with food and with the rest of the Boojummers Charlie and Breck had started back to the spot where they had left the girls. From afar off they saw the crowd and began to run. Suppose something had happened to Jane or Mabel. Breck remembered with thanksgiving that Jane had promised not to go in the water again until he got back.
“Good old Jane wouldn’t break her word for a million,” he said to himself as he raced to see what was the matter anyhow.
Towering above the crowd he saw the head of his own father and something in his face told him there was tragedy in the air.
Breaking through the crowd to the space kept open by the exertions of Jane and Mr. Breckenridge, the son caught his father by the hand.
“Father!” he cried.
“Allen! My son! Look, your sister! She is drowned.”
“No, she is not,” put in Jane reassuringly. “See, her breath is coming back!” and sure enough as Mabel pressed upon the lungs and then removed the pressure a sign of animation could be discerned in the prostrate body. The shoulders heaved slightly and there was a quivering of the long lashes that rested on the marble cheek.
Mabel began to sob.
“Let me take your place, Mabel, please,” suggested Jane.