Brave and True | Page 5

which
had been passing with the heavy long boathook, which had been used
to draw poor Ned out of the water as soon as he had risen to the
surface.
Cook reached the bank with the child in her arms just at the same
moment as the man, who leaped off the barge, carrying Ned, whose
eyes were closed and head drooping over the man's shoulder.
"Oh, my poor darling boy!" wailed Cook. "He's dead--he's dead!"
"Not he, missus," cried the bargeman. "I hooked him out too sharp.
Here, hold up, young master. Don't you cry, little missy; he's on'y
swallowed more water than's good for him. Now then, perk up, my
lad."
Poor Ned's eyes opened at this, and he stared wildly at the man, then, as

if utterly bewildered, at Cook, and lastly at Tizzy, who clung sobbing
to him, where he had been laid on the grass, streaming with water.
"Tiz!" he cried faintly.
"Teddy! Teddy!" she wailed. "Oh, don't die! What would poor Mamma
do?"
"Die?" he said confusedly. "Why--what? Here," he cried, as
recollection came back with a rush, "oh, Tizzy, don't say you've lost the
kite!"
"Lost the kite!" cried Cook, furiously now. "Oh, you wicked, wicked
boy! What will your Mar say?"
"As she was precious glad I was a-comin' by," said the man, grinning.
"There: don't scold the youngster, missus. It was all an accident, wasn't
it, squire? But, I say, next time you climb a tree don't you trust them
poplars, for they're as brittle as sere-wood. There: you're all right now,
aren't you?"
"Yes," said Ned. "Did you pull me out?"
"To be sure I did."
"Then there's a threepenny-piece for you," said Ned. "I haven't got any
more."
"Then you put it back in your pocket, my lad, to buy something for
your little sis. I don't want to be paid for that."
"You wait till his poor Mar comes home," cried Cook excitedly, "and
I'm sure she'll give you a bit of gold."
"Nay," growled the man. "I've got bairns of my own. I don't want to be
paid. Yes, I do," he said quickly; "will you give me a kiss, little one, for
pulling brother out?"
Tizzy's face lit up with smiles, as she held up her hands to be caught up,

and the next moment her little white face was pressed against a brown
one, her arms closing round the bargeman's neck, as she kissed him
again and again.
"Thank you, thank you, sir," she babbled. "It was so good of you, and I
love you very, very much."
"Hah!" sighed the man, as he set her down softly. "Now take brother's
hand and run home with him to get some dry clothes. Morning, missus.
He won't hurt."
He turned away sharply and went back to his barge, from which he
looked at the little party running across the meadow, Cook sobbing and
laughing as she held the children's hands tightly in her own.
"And such a great, big, ugly man, ma'am," Cook said to her mistress,
when she was telling all what had passed.
The tears of thankfulness were standing in Mrs Lester's eyes, and
several of them dropped like pearls, oddly enough, just as she was
thinking that the outsides of diamonds are sometimes very rough.
CHAPTER THREE.
A GRATEFUL INDIAN, BY HELEN MARION BURNSIDE.
Jem could not walk any farther; his ankle was badly hurt, there was no
doubt of that, and, brave little lad though he was, his heart sank within
him, for he knew all the consequences which might ensue from such a
disaster. It was not the pain that daunted him--Jem would have scorned
the imputation; neither did he fear to spend a night in the forest--he
could sleep under a tree as soundly as in his own bed under the rafters
of his Father's cabin. It was warm dry weather, and he had a hunch of
bread in his pocket; there was nothing therefore to be afraid of except
Indians, and his Father said there were none in the neighbourhood at
present.
Jem's mind would have been quite easy on his own account, but he was

on his way through the forest to a village on the farther boundary to
obtain some medicine for his sick Mother, which the doctor had desired
she might have without fail that very night. Our hero, though but eleven
years old, had just finished a long day's work, and it was already dusk,
but he loved his Mother dearly, and gladly volunteered for the ten-mile
walk to fetch the medicine; he did not even wait to eat his supper, but,
putting it in his pocket to munch on the way, trotted off on his errand.
Jem's Father was a small farmer, who had built his own