“O Molly, O Paul, Weezy’s drowning! Weezy’s drowning in the ocean!” then Weezy sprang to her feet wide awake,—
“O Kirke Rowe, that’s a fib, that’s a dreadful fib!” she cried, whirling about, and waving her arms like an excited windmill. “I’m not drowned one bit! Why, see me, here I am, right here!”
I wish you could have heard the shout that answered her from the shore. I wish you could have seen the sudden rush from the wharf, and the dash up those wooden steps!
Regardless of salt and sand, Mrs. Rowe clasped her dripping child to her breast, and then passed her about like some choice relic to be kissed and adored.
“You did fall in the hocean though, Weezy; I saw you!” cried Harry, evidently bent on clearing himself from any suspicion of having lied.
Weezy turned to her mother with a most contrite air,—
“I didn’t mean to, mamma, truly I didn’t! That wiggly old fish jumped at me and knocked me off!”
“Bless my sweet little girlie!” exclaimed Mrs. Rowe, taking the child again in her arms, “did you think mamma was going to scold you?”
Weezy looked very happy. In place of the chiding she had expected for losing her cap and soiling her gown, she had received hugs and kisses. The reason for this strange state of things she did not in the least understand; but she knew that she liked it. That she had been in danger of drowning never once occurred to her.
“Walk as fast as you can, darling,” cried her mamma, leading her on toward the boarding-house. “You must have a hot bath and a good rubbing at once, or you’ll take cold.”