“What is that dark spot yonder, by the edge of the water?” said Margaret, as she stooped down to let her eye glance along the dark level line of the mud.
“It is only one of the buoys,” said the father, “such as they moor ships to in the reach.”
“There is no buoy in that part of the river,” said Will. “Margaret sees something, and so do I now. I don’t know what it is, but I soon will though.”
And without more ado, he stepped on to the mud and was soon upon all-fours, creeping along, and dragging his body over the softest places of the ooze, where he must have sunk into the mud up to his waist, if he had kept an erect posture. As he advanced, he evidently saw something lying close to the water’s edge, and, after great toil, he came up to it. True enough he found it to be the stiff body of the poor youth they had been in search of. Lifting himself up, he called aloud, "Ahoy! ahoy! Margaret, you are right;" words of such joy as were never forgotten in after years by any of that party.
Laud lost no time in hoisting the poor boy on his back, and, tying his stiff hands round his own neck with his handkerchief, he crept upon the mud again toward that shore where stood those anxious friends awaiting his approach. The boy was, to all appearance, stiff and lifeless. The hair of his head was one matted mass of ice and mud; his limbs were stiff and frozen; one leg seemed like a log of hard wood, the other they could bend a little. He had been up to his neck in the mud, and had evidently been overcome with the exertion of extricating himself. His clothes were drawn off his back, and had been used as mud-splashers, until exhausted nature could make no further effort, and he had sunk, unconscious, upon the ooze. Death seemed to have done his work.
The only plan now was to get him home as soon as they could. Laud soon constructed a carriage for him, of a hurdle, upon which he laid his own jacket, the father’s great-coat, and over him he threw Margaret’s cloak. Each of the four persons taking a corner of the hurdle upon their shoulders, they made their way, as fast as possible, along the shore. In this way they proceeded at a good round pace, until they reached the Grove-side, where they met the other servants, coming in company with the two brewhouse-men, with blankets and brandy, in case Master William should be found. Their arrival was very opportune, as it enabled the exhausted party to transfer their burden to the new comers. Mr. Cobbold expressed his gratitude to Laud, and asked him to come on to the Cliff, and rest himself that night, and he would endeavour to repay him in the morning.
“I thank you, sir,” said Laud; “I was coming to see Margaret, and if you would only grant me a word or two with her, it is all the favour I ask.”
“As many as you please, my man; but it would be better for her and you, too, to be at the kitchen fire such a night as this, than to be talking upon the banks of the Orwell.”
Laud seemed to hesitate; at last he said, “Well, sir, I will come.”
Soon afterwards the thoughtful Margaret said to Mr. Cobbold, “Had I not better run forward, sir, and prepare the slipper-bath, and get the fire lit in the bed-room, and have warm blankets ready, and send off for Dr. Stebbing?”