“Well, my dear, it can’t be helped,” meekly, from father, who is secretly glad, and prepares to root out the stone like a Hercules. Jacky gets excited, and hopes the other leg will slip down and get wet, too!
“Here, hand me the lever, George; you don’t put enough force to it.” George obeys and grins. “Now then, once more, with will—ho! hi! hup!” Father strains at the lever, which, not having been properly fixed, slips, and he finds himself suddenly in a sitting posture, with the water round his waist. As the cool element embraces his loins, he “h–ah–ah!” gasps, as every bather knows how; but the shock to his system is nothing compared with the aggravation to his feelings when he hears the joyful yell of triumph that issues from the brazen lungs of his youngest hope.
“Never mind, I’ll work all the better now—come, let us be jolly, and clear out the rest of the pool.” Good man! nothing can put him out. Gradually the bottom is cleared of stones, (excepting the big one), and levelled, and the embankment is built to a sufficient height.
“Now for the finishing touch!” cries George; “bring the turf; Fred—I’m ready!” The water of the burn is rushing violently through the narrow outlet in the “dike.” A heavy stone is dropped into the gap, and turf is piled on.
“More turf! more stones! quick, look alive!—it’ll burst everything—there, that’s it!”
All hands toil and work at the opening, to smother it up. The angry element leaks through, bursts, gushes—is choked back with a ready turf; and squirts up in their faces. Mother is stunned to see the power of so small a stream when the attempt is made to check it thoroughly; she is not mechanically-minded by nature, and has learned nothing in that way by education. It is stopped at last, however.
For a quarter of an hour the waters from above are cut off from those below, as completely as were those of the Jordan in days of old. They all stand panting and silent, watching the rising of the water, while George keeps a sharp eye on the dike to detect and repair any weakness. At last it is full, and the surplus runs over in a pretty cascade, while the accommodating stream piles mud and stones against the dike, and thus unwittingly strengthens the barrier. The pool is formed, full three feet deep by twenty broad. Jacky wants to bathe at once.
“But the pool is like pea-soup, my pet—wait until it clears.”
“I won’t—let me bathe!”
“O Jacky, my darling!”