Bubby was in deep water already, and his struggles were carrying him down stream. Preston seized him by his calico frock, and tried to drag him toward the bank; but that dreadful baby had always had a habit of nipping at everything like a snapping-turtle, and now he caught Preston’s throat between his thumb and forefinger, half strangling him. And, oh, the current was so swift!
For a moment it was life or death with both of them; but Preston managed to unclasp the tiny hand, hold it down, and land the poor little fellow safe at last.
“God helped me—I knew he would!” thought brave Preston Gray, as he drew his first long breath on the bank.
Of course all the little girls had gathered around him, screaming in chorus, and it was a noisy procession that followed the weeping Patty down the street, with the dripping baby in her arms.
“’Twas my brother that saved him, ’twas my brother Preston!” cried Flaxie to everybody they met. “He jumped into the river and pulled out the baby!”
That wasn’t the end of it. There was another procession in the evening, and this one stopped at Dr. Gray’s gate. It was the Brass Band, out in uniform; but Preston hadn’t the least idea what for, till the men paused at the end of a tune, swung their caps, and gave “Three cheers for Master Preston Gray!”
Even then he didn’t understand. He hid behind his father and thought he should like to know what his mother was crying about.
“Hurrah!” said the leader again, Major Patten, swinging his tall fur cap, which was the pride of the whole company; “hurrah for the boy that risked his life to save a drowning baby!”
“Oh, is that it? Anybody’d have done that!” thought little Preston, hiding again. He was a modest boy; but his sister Flaxie, you know, was quite too bold.
“Why don’t he come out?” whispered she, pulling at his sleeve.