“I say, Davie, what do you suppose Dannie Green and Frankie Holt and two more boys are doing? They have taken your raft and are going to have a sail on the Black Pool—so they said.”
“They could never do it,” said Davie, with a sudden fear rising.
There was no turning up the hill after that. He ran across the two fields to the point where the raft had been left. It was gone sure enough, and he hastened on, stumbling over the stones and timber which Jacob Holt had last winter accumulated on the Varney place. Then he went through the strip of woods, and round the rocky point beyond, thinking all the time that such little fellows never could have pushed the raft so far up the stream, and that it was foolish for him to run.
But he was not a minute too soon. He could never tell afterward, whether he saw the raft, or heard the frightened cry first, but he knew that a boy had overbalanced and fallen into the water while trying to reach bottom with his pole in the deeper waters of the pool; and the next moment he had thrown off boots and coat, and was striking out toward the spot where he had disappeared. The boy would rise in a minute, he thought, and he could get hold of him.
But he did not rise for what seemed to Davie a very long time, and might never rise of himself. There was not a particle of risk, Davie knew, in diving to search for him, and if there had been, he would hardly have considered it in the excitement of the moment. It would have been the last of little Frank Holt if he had
considered it long. The little fellow had fallen head foremost, and possibly had struck his head on one of the roots or sticks that had accumulated in the bottom of the pool, for when Davie brought him to the surface, he seemed quite insensible, and he struck out for the Ythan side of the pool. He did what he could for the boy, letting the water flow from his mouth and ears, and rubbing him rapidly for a time.
He caught sight of the other lads as they reached the opposite shore with the raft, and saw them running at full speed in the direction of the Grove. But he felt that he must not wait for the help they would be sure to send, and gently lifting the boy in his arms, he went with him with all speed through the wood and up the hill to the house.
A single sentence told the story, and in a minute little Frank was in a warm bath and then in a warm bed. He soon showed such signs of life as encouraged them to hope that there was not much the matter with him; and then Davie thought of the consternation which the other lads would cause when they carried the tale to the Grove.
“I doubt you’ll need to go as quick as you can, Davie. Think of the poor father and mother if they should hear.”