“O Joel—you!” she cried as she was swung off, and felt herself drop, drop, to be caught by other strong arms. She lifted her eyes, her yellow hair streaming away from her face as she called him; and he turned his begrimed and haggard one at her an instant as he smiled, and continued to help the women down.
“This boat is full—not another soul comes on,” cried the sailors shoving off, as a woman, more dead than alive, was dropped in.
Phronsie looked up at Joel; he waved his hand at her, and she turned and threw her arms around Grandpapa’s neck.
The ship’s surgeon bent over the handsome white-haired old gentleman with the young girl clinging to his neck. They had brought them on together in that way when picked up, drifting aimlessly in an open boat, the exhausted sailors drooping over their oars. He listened carefully for their breathing while he applied all the restoratives, but they seemed to have passed on over the tide together.
“Oh, my deary; let me try!” It was the little old woman whom they brought up next, sodden with the salt spray, and laid down beside them. She raised herself by a violent effort, and threw her wet hands over Phronsie’s white face. “Oh, my lamb—quick, doctor, now! See, her eyes are moving—oh, my pretty deary!”
“Grandpapa,” said Phronsie feebly.
“Yes, my lamb,” cried old Mrs. Benson in the energy of hope; “see, she is coming to!”
But Dr. Ransom knew he had a far more difficult case before him to work back the receding life into the old body; and he left her to the woman’s care while he applied the restoratives to Mr. King.
“Lend a hand here, will you?” cried Mrs. Benson to a woman who had not ceased to bemoan the loss of her possessions since she had been put, the last passenger, in the boat before they swept off; “do you rub her feet, while I chafe her hands—oh, my lamb!”