Meanwhile, Ben sweeps on like the wind, hearkening even in his haste for the welcome "thwack, thwack" of his father's axe. It is a sweetly tranquil scene he bursts upon at last—a knot of toiling men lopping off the limbs of a huge tree but newly laid low—the lad heard the crash of its fall as he ran. The warm afternoon glow was about them, the little birds hopping and peering among the wide-spreading branches of the trees around, half startled, half curious, as if to see all. A terrible shock to John Lester was the tale the panting boy had to tell, and then he too ran like the wind; his companions in full cry behind.
Only the exultant river, all flecked with lights and with afternoon colouring, met the eyes of the eager men when they reached the spot; the struggle was over. Two lives had gone out or had been saved; the father wrung his hands as he rushed madly here and there, and peered over at the plashing waterfall, Ben at his side, and both seeing nothing of the dear ones they sought.
"And it all came of Jack's putting on old Shag's skin and playing wolf to frighten Mab; and she saw him, and jumped in before he had time to speak," wailed Ben, as the river swept on and the waterfall clamoured. John Lester groaned.
"Well, Master Lester; I have 'em safe enough—I and old Jowler. 'Twas a miracle of savin', but 'tis done; they're both in bed and asleep like two tops already." So spoke Jerry Smith, the owner of the cottage in the woods, and of a ghost to boot, if the lads of the neighbourhood could be believed, coming up behind the distracted father, and speaking over his shoulder.
"Then Heaven be praised!" returned he out of the depth of his heart, turning and grasping the old man's hand.
"Ay! I have 'em all safe—ha-ha!" laughed the old man, glancing up at his chamber window, which looked westward, where stood a wooden figure of a miniature North American Indian all in his war paint, and brandishing his knives like a very brave, as the wind caught him and whirled him round.
"And see, Master Lester, I've mounted my savage to amuse them when they wake—my ghost the youngsters about here call it, and keep clear of my house. Ghost, indeed! there are no ghosts."
"No; the world is getting too wise to believe such nonsense in our days, Jerry. But I'd like to take a look at my youngsters," quoth John Lester.
The old man led him in—Ben following on tip-toe—and up to his quaint chamber—ah! yes, it was very quaint and pretty, full of wonderful surprises, what with curious stones arranged here, a stuffed squirrel there, and a dormouse elsewhere. Then in one corner was a fleet of tiny ships—ah! Jerry had been a sailor in his youthful days—which sailed round and round a centre one and stationary by using an apparatus not unlike small bellows. And there in the west window stood the warrior Indian, chopping and cutting at imaginary foes among the sunbeams. But the father's eyes sought his children. Ah! yes, he was thankful to see, there they were, both sweetly sleeping, Mab in the old man's bed, a stray sunbeam flitting over her face, like a smile from somewhere, Jack wrapped in blankets on the floor.
The sweet after-glow was about the house ere they awoke, and then peals of laughter from both children brought old Jerry up his creaking stairs. Nay, Jack was out on the landing, hurrying out of his blankets and into the dry clothes Ben had brought him from home.