Gypsy Breynton | Page 9

say What would become of that child? A whit cared Gypsy for Mrs. Surly! As long as her mother thought the sport and exercise in the open air a fine thing for her, and did not complain of the torn dresses oftener than twice a week, she would roll her hoop and toss her ball under Mrs. Surly's very windows, and laugh merrily to see the green glasses pushed up and taken off in horror at what Mrs. Surly termed an "impropriety."
Therefore it created no surprise in the family one morning, when school-time came and passed, and Gypsy did not make her appearance, that she was reported to be "making a raft" down in the orchard swamp.
"Run and call her, Winnie," said Mrs. Breynton. "Tell her it is very late, and I want her to come right up,--remember."
"Yes mum," said Winnie, with unusual alacrity, and started off down the lane as fast as his copper-toed feet could carry him. It was quite a long lane, and a very pleasant one in summer. There was a row of hazel-nut bushes, always green and sweet, on one side, and a stone-wall on the other, with the broad leaves and tiny blossoms of a grape-vine trailing over it. The lane opened into a wide field which had an apple-orchard at one end of it, and sloped down over quite a little hill into a piece of marshy ground, where ferns and white violets, anemones, and sweet-flag grew in abundance. In the summer, the water was apt to dry up. In the spring, it was sometimes four feet deep. It was a pleasant spot, for the mountains lay all around it, and shut it in with their great forest-arms, and the sharp peaks that were purple and crimson and gold, under passing shadows and fading sunsets. And, then, is there any better fun than to paddle in the water?
Gypsy looked as if she thought not, when Winnie suddenly turned the corner, and ran down the slope.
She had finished her raft, and launched it off from the root of an old oak-tree that grew half in the water, and, with a long pole, had pushed herself a third of the way across the swamp. Her dress was tucked up over her bright balmoral, and the ribbons of her hat were streaming in the wind. She had no mittens or gloves on her hands, which were very pink and plump, and her feet were incased in high rubber boots.
"Hullo!" said Winnie, walking out on the root of the oak.
"Hilloa!" said Gypsy.
"I say--that's a bully raft."
"To be sure it is."
"I haven't had a ride on a raft since--why since 'leven or six years ago when I was a little boy. I shouldn't wonder if it was twenty-three years, either."
"Oh, I can't bear people that hint. Why don't you say right out, if you want a ride?"
"I want a ride," said Winnie, without any hesitation.
"Wait till I turn her round. I'll bring her up on the larboard side," replied Gypsy, in the tone of an old salt of fifty years' experience.
So she paddled up to the oak-tree, and Winnie jumped on board.
"I guess we'll have time to row across and back before school," said Gypsy, pushing off.
Winnie maintained a discreet silence.
"I don't suppose it's very late," said Gypsy.
"Oh, just look at that toad with a green head, down in the water!" observed Winnie.
They paddled on a little ways in silence.
"What makes your cheeks so red?" asked Gypsy.
"I guess it's scarlet fever, or maybe it's appleplexy, you know."
"Oh!"
Just then Winnie gave a little scream.
"Look here--Gyp.! The boat's goin'clock down. I don't want to go very much. I saw another toad down there."
"I declare!" said Gypsy, "we're going to be swamped, as true as you live! It isn't strong enough to bear two,--sit still, Winnie. Perhaps we'll get ashore."
But no sooner had she spoken the words than the water washed up about her ankles, and Winnie's end of the raft went under. The next she knew, they were both floundering in the water.
It chanced to be about three feet and a half deep, very cold, and somewhat slimy. Gypsy had a strong impression that a frog jumped into her neck when she plunged, head first, into the deep mud at the bottom. After a little splashing and gasping, she regained her feet, and stood up to her elbows in the water. But what she could do, Winnie could not. He had sunk in the soft mud, and even if he had had the courage to stand up straight, the water would have been above his head. But it had never occurred to him to do otherwise than lie gasping and flat on the bottom, where he was drowning as fast as he possibly could.
Gypsy pulled him out and carried him