"Yes, child. The green pastures and still waters," answered the old woman. "And there is the Shepherd, you know. I shall not want."
"There isn't any shepherd there, and we must go after our own cow when she strays away, granny."
Ben shut the door gently then, and went down under the sunflowers along the road and over a narrow bridge, stopping to look into the rapid stream where the cattle came to drink at noon-time. Yes, sly Brownie was in the neighbor's pasture; but she took little Ben's grave rebuke very meekly, as became a good cow, and started away home. She reached the bridge and clattered over it, her hoofs shaking the unsteady planks.
As soon as he saw her headed in the right direction, Ben lingered to look longingly up the main road, for it was not so dark that he could not see if any one should happen to be coming down that road. He was just turning to go on, when he discovered a man in the distance. As Ben saw him walking first in the dusty road, then in the dewy may-weed of the border, now here, now there, he sped briskly toward him to act as a walking-stick. How often he had performed this sad duty before! Yet there was no hesitation or delay in the way he sprang forward to help the unhappy father who had done so little for his child.
"Humph! I should think you had better be on hand, leaving poor fellow to find his way home all 'lone this time night."
Ben did not answer. He had all he could do to keep his small feet out from under Peter's great boots, and to keep both himself and his unhappy parent from falling to the ground. At the bridge they made more noise than even the cow had made in crossing. The old planks creaked and rattled, while Peter lurched from one side to another.
"Take care, father! See, oh, s-s-see!" stuttered Ben. "You go too near the edge!"
The shrill warning came too late. Peter staggered, pitched, and reeled over into the brown water. One hand vainly snatching at Ben only tore the shabby straw hat off his head. The poor child gave a long, loud shriek for help. Fear loosened his stammering tongue, and the cry, "Father will drown! Come, oh, come!" rang out wildly over the fields. Meanwhile, by kneeling, he had seized the drunkard's coat, and was able to hold him at least a moment.
It seemed an hour to Ben. Peter struggled madly, and flung both arms around the frail boy to draw him recklessly down with him to death. Over he went, without resistance, and the leaping, sparkling stream that was so beautiful by day swept over them both. The stars twinkled overhead and the crickets chirruped in the crisp grass, and at that very moment Brownie was softly lowing at the little red cottage door. Granny waked up and called out in the silence and shadow, "Bring the good Book, Bennie, then we will go to rest."
Two hours later Billy came gayly whistling home and found the cottage dark, the fire out, and the poor old woman shivering, troubled to understand the strange stillness around her and her own discomfort. He lit a candle and looked on the lounge, expecting to find little Ben curled up there asleep, but the kitten, mewing pitifully when he disturbed her, was there all alone.