A scream went up from the deck that pierced the air,—"Boy overboard! Help! help! help!"
Mrs. Clifford heard, and knew, by instinct, that it was Horace. She had just sent Grace to call him, not feeling safe to trust him longer with Mr. Lazelle. She rushed through the door of the state-room, and followed the crowd to the other side of the boat, crying,—
"O, can't somebody save him!"
There was no mistaking the mother's voice; the crowd made way for her.
"Safe! safe and sound!" was the shout now. "All right!"
The Irish lad, at Horace's first plunge, had thrown him his bucket—it was a life-preserver; that is, it would not sink—and the drowning boy had been drawn up by means of a rope attached to the bail.
"Ma," said Grace, when they were all safely in the cars at Buffalo, and Horace as well as ever, though a little pale, "I do believe there never was anybody had such an awful journey! Do you suppose we'll ever get Horace home to grandma's?"