"Oh, more things are true than you and father know of," observed Jack, with a wink at Ben.
But the little maiden was now out of hearing; once, twice she waved her hand to them as they watched her from the doorway—how and when would they meet again? Then she went trip-tripping along by the brook. The brook ran into the wood; here it joined another stream, wildly turbulent, although narrow, then together rushed on like two prankish schoolboys out for a frolic; not long after joining hands, as it were, they leaped down an embankment, laughing, as one could fancy, listening to the babble the waters made, watching the sparkling of the flying spray. Ah! many a rainbow shimmered about the waterfall; right dangerous was the whirlpool above and below the fall. Deep down in the ravine the waters meandered, calmly tranquil: very like mature thoughtful manhood, after the prankish follies of youth are past.
Well, along by the side of the brook trudged Mab, saying aloud, as if to re-assure herself, "There are no ghosts and no wolves," for only her parents' words could render the imaginative child brave, strong, handsome girl of eight though she was. But ah! ah! what was that?
She was nearing Smith's cottage now, and surely something was stirring among the bushes and undergrowth. Ah! yes, and a formidable something was to be seen; her eyes scarce took it in ere it had quite vanished. She met a little old woman a minute after, carrying a bundle of sticks.
"Please; ma'am, did you see anything like a dog or a wolf as you came along?" she asked, half ashamed of her question.
"La! child, no; and I hope I shan't, for I likes no such creatures;" so saying, the old woman took to her heels and ran, sticks and all.
Poor little Mab wished she had not scared the old soul with her fancies, for of course they were fancies, when oh, horror! the child's heart seemed to leap into her throat; there, almost close to her, was a hideous creature, which her startled imagination conjured up into something terrible to behold, snorting, growling, and bearing down upon her. Poor, impulsive, silly Mab: before she well knew what she was doing she had sprung aside, anywhere to be out of the way of the beast—a wolf she thought it was—and that anywhere was into the brook, the prankish brook, just where it joined hands with its wild companion. The very trees seemed to rustle with consternation as her shriek rang around; ay, she may shriek, but who would hear her? Not her father, chopping at and felling the giant trees some distance away.
Now two lads rush up to the edge of the brook: they are Jack and Ben. Jack drops a something very like a skin, and leaps in after poor, screaming, struggling Mab, borne away, borne on to be hugged and embraced in the arms of both streams, and hurried forward to the waterfalls.
Alas! alas! will Jack save her? He has reached her; she is clinging to him; but those two frolicsome watery playfellows are tossing them hither and thither as in rude sport. Ben takes it all in with his quick boyish eyes, and rushes away, like a very hare for swiftness, to where his father is chopping in the calm afternoon glory, little dreaming of what is happening not a mile away. How sweetly pitiful is the calm wondering sky, watching overhead, as one may fancy, the struggle for dear life going on in those wild gurgling waters. Ah! the two streams in one have them in their embrace; they will not let them go. Mab lies a senseless weight in Jack's arms as they are borne on towards the whirlpool; once there, their fate will be sealed.
Jack's senses are leaving him; if Mab was not clinging to him as with the grasp of death, he would let her go; his strong young arms are waxing weak; and oh! a black terrible monster is upon him. Is it a wolf? The river clamours and laughs—ha-ha! Jack, Mab, and the terrible monster are mingling together; then Jack's senses are quite gone, and he remembers no more.