Everybody jumped as if an earthquake had swallowed the cliff.
“It’s Donald, it’s Donald! I didn’t drown him at all!” shouted Weezy, dancing up and down in frantic joy.
Her mother had rushed behind the sheltering rock to embrace her lost baby.
“Oh, my sweet, cold darling,” she cried, pressing the wet child to her breast; “how could you frighten mamma so?”
“Didn’t mean to, truly. Was only just a-bavin’,”—here disobedient Donald hung his head,—“and Weezy comed back, and then I runned and hid,—just for fun, mamma!”
“But after that, Donald dear, you heard people call to you. Why didn’t you answer them and tell them where you were?”
“Here I is, Mamma”
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Donald snuggled closer to his mother’s breast. “I hadn’t a bit o’ clo’es on, mamma, don’t you know?” he whispered; “not a single bit o’ clo’es on! S’pose I wanted the queer old womens to see?”