For a moment he was too dazed to move; then he scampered madly to the shore, trailing the sculpin after him.
“Weezy’s tumbled! Weezy’s tumbled into the water,” he shrieked, running toward The Old and New as fast as he could run.
The more direct way was by the one hundred steps which led to the bluff; but Harry never thought of the steps, he toiled around by the carriage-road. Twice he tripped, and measured his short length in the sand; but fortunately his screams went on ahead of him, and reached Mrs. Rowe up-stairs in her room.
“Are you hurt, Harry? What is it?” she cried, hastening to the brow of the hill.
“Come, oh, please come!” sobbed the terrified little fellow. “She’s in it. Oh, she’s in it!”
“Who’s in it? In what, Harry?”
“Weezy, Weezy’s in it—in the ocean! I didn’t push her in!”
“Where, Harry? Show me.”
“She tumbled in, she tumbled in her own self.”
Mrs. Rowe had seized the child’s hand, and was dragging him back to the beach. Behind him still trailed the forgotten sculpin, now dead as a door-nail.