There she lay in his arms, as still as a stone. The water dripped from her beautiful flaxen hair, from the tips of her white fingers, from her dimpled chin; but not an eyelash stirred, and her little heart had ceased to beat.
"The poor thing is clean gone, no mistake about that," thought the man, putting his lips to Flaxie's cold mouth.
"Rub her! Roll her! Run for father!" shouted Preston, flinging himself upon his lifeless sister, and kissing her wildly.
"Here, boys, you run ahead and get the doctor, and I'll carry her to the house as quick as I can," said Mr. Bond.
"Don't take on so," added he, soothingly to Preston. "Folks do come to, sometimes, and live, when they look as far gone as she does."
He said this from the kindness of his heart; but in reality he had very little hope of Flaxie. Dr. Gray had scarcely any hope either: he thought she had been in the water too long.
Ever so many men and women worked over the child for hours and hours: Dr. Papa and mamma among the rest, of course; and even Grandpa Pressy helped a little, though his hands trembled, and he was very pale. It did not seem to be of the least use; still, they kept trying.
"O, you dear, beautiful baby," said Mrs. Gray, the tears falling over her cheeks, "it is so hard to give you up!"
Dr. Papa held his cold little darling, his "Pinky Pearly," to his heart; but he could not speak a word.