Part 4

Papa had come now, and Harry had had his first "dip." It wasn't so _very_ bad after all, but just when he was getting up his spirits again, and thinking ten minutes or so every morning were quickly over, all his fears and dislike grew worse than ever when his father told him that in a day or two he should begin to teach him to swim.

"Everybody, especially every English man and boy, should know how to swim," Papa had said. "There is never any knowing the use it may be of, both for one's self and others."

"Isn't it very hard to learn?" Harry asked, not venturing to say more.

"It takes some patience," his father said. "But by the time I have to go--in three weeks or so--you should be able to swim fairly well, if you have a lesson every day."

And Harry came home to tell Dora his troubles, which he worked himself up to think were very great ones indeed.

There was no shirking it however. Papa, though very kind, was very firm, and once he said a thing, it had to be done. So with a rather white face, and looking very solemn, poor Harry set off every day for his swimming lesson.

He was a quick and clever boy, and a strong boy, and this his father knew. He would not have forced Harry to do anything for which he was unfit, or that could have done him any harm. And after the first shivers of fear and tremulous clinging to his father's hand were got over, it went on better and faster than could have been expected. Harry didn't mind its being difficult once he had left off being afraid, and a day or two before his father had to leave them, Harry had the pleasure of hearing him say to his mother, "He swims already very nearly as well as I do myself."

Now I shall tell you why I have called this little story "Harry's Reward."

Seacliff, the place at which these children were spending the summer, was not a fashionable watering-place, with terraces and donkey-carriages and bathing-machines, but a little village, where one or two cottages were to be had for the season. There were also a few gentlemen's houses in the neighbourhood, so that in fine weather merry groups met at the little sheltered bay among the rocks, where the bathing was pleasantest.

One day, not very long before they were to leave Seacliff, Harry, having finished his own morning swim, set off to walk home at his ease, whistling as he went. He had chosen what was called the high path, a footpath up above the lane, which was the regular road from the village to the beach, but from which the lane could be seen all the way.

It was a lovely morning--bright and peaceful--and Harry, as he went, wished that poor Dora had got leave to bathe.

"Next year," he thought, "I hope we shall come again, and then what fun we shall have. Dolly will learn to swim in no time."

Suddenly a sound disturbed his pleasant thoughts. A horse and cart or carriage of some kind was rushing wildly along, coming nearer and nearer. Surely the horse, or pony, as Harry now saw it to be, was running away. The boy who had never been a coward except about "sea things," tumbled down the steep grassy slope in no time, and stood in the middle of the road eager to see what he could do. The flying vehicle was near enough now for him to see that it was the pony-carriage of two girls, a little older than Dora, whose home was one of the pretty houses a little way from Seacliff. He had often seen them drive down in it to the shore to bathe.

But what a queer figure was driving now. The pony was not running away, on the contrary, it seemed as if it could not run fast enough to please the driver; a girl with hair streaming, dressed only in a blue flannel bathing gown, streaming too, who stood upright in the carriage, lashing the poor pony as if she were mad, while from time to time she screamed, in a shrill and yet choking voice, "Help, help--for God's sake, help!"

"What is it?" screamed Harry too, as she passed. She would not stop, but she threw back some words on the wind.

"My sister--Alice--drowning. Going to the village to fetch some one--can swim."

And then again came the terrible cry, as if she hardly knew what she was saying, "Help, help!"

"Oh," thought Harry, "if she could have stopped and taken me back, we'd have been at the shore in a moment. _I_ can swim. _I_ can swim."

And he could run too. It was not so very far from the bathing-place. How he got there Harry never could tell. On he rushed, tearing off his clothes as he went. Off flew hat, jacket, collar and shirt, till there was nothing but trousers and tennis-shoes to pitch away, as in his little clinging woven drawers only, brave Harry flung himself, fearless and dauntless, into the sea, and struck out for the round dark object, poor Alice's head, which it had taken but an instant to point out to him.

"I can _swim_! I can _swim_!" were the magic words with which he was able at once to push off the friendly hands that would have drawn him back, whose owners now stood watching him with flushed faces and tearful eyes, murmuring many a fervent prayer for his success, or saying aloud with clasped hands, "The brave boy, the splendid little fellow! It is her only chance!"

It _was_ her only chance. Long before poor Lilian, for all her headlong drive, was back with a sailor she had met just outside the village, Alice would have sunk to rise no more. She had been caught by the current and carried out far beyond her depth, and when Harry, panting, labouring, but swimming valiantly still, got near enough to catch the long plait of hair, and so draw her gently after him to shore, she had all but lost consciousness. Better so, perhaps, for had she struggled or clung to him, both would have been lost.

As it was, there were plenty of hands to carry them to land, once they were within a safe distance; but Harry was the hero, Harry, alone and unaided, had saved a human life, for of all the score or so of watchers on the beach, not one knew how to swim.

Was not this worthy to be called his "Reward?" even if the thanks of the two pretty sisters and their parents had been less fervent and heartfelt.

Harry and Dora go often to Seacliff now, even without the rest of the family; for there is a house near there where they are always most welcome visitors, and where the only fear is that if Harry were not a very sensible boy, the attentions of Alice and Lilian _might_ spoil him.

Mamma was very fond of mushrooms. I don't mean to say that she was a greedy person or fond of eating, but if she _had_ a weakness, it was for mushrooms. When she was a little girl, she had lived in a country place where they grew in abundance, and she had often told the children how delightful it was to go mushroom gathering, how pretty the creamy-white heads looked, sometimes almost hidden in the grass, like eggs in a mossy nest, and what shrieks of fun and eagerness used to be heard when some specially fine one was suddenly caught sight of.

But Mamma's _own_ children, Lancey and Dick--Mamma was not very rich in children, she had only these two little sturdy boys, Lancey was nine and Dick was seven--had never had the good fortune to live in a mushroom country. All they knew of mushrooms was when they sometimes happened to catch sight of them in the kitchen, when cook had bought a little basket of them, paying very dear for it, no doubt, because "Missis was so partial to them." And there was great rejoicing, as you can fancy, when one autumn Mamma told her little boys that they were going down into the country to spend September with an old aunt, who lived not far from where Mamma herself had lived when she "was a little girl."

"And is there those funny things--mush--mush--I forget the name--there?" asked Dick.

"Mushrooms?" said Mamma. "Oh, yes, in September there will be plenty, no doubt," she replied.

"And your birthday's in September," said Lancey. "Oh, Mamma, oh, Dick!" he went on, giving a great spring in his delight, "just think--we can gather mushrooms for it--nice, _wild_ mushrooms, that taste ever so much better than the ones you buy in the shops, don't they, Mamma, darling?"

"Than forced mushrooms, you mean, Lancey," she replied. "Yes, forced mushrooms, that means mushrooms grown in hot-houses, or hot-beds;" for she saw on the boys' lips the question, "what are forced mushrooms, please?" "never have the same flavour, I am sure. Besides, one hasn't the fun of hunting for them, and gathering them one's self. I am sure you will enjoy that part of it."

"I am sure we shall. I am sure we shall like Fernimoor _much_ better than the seaside," said both boys--"even though we have liked it very much," added tender-hearted Dick. He was so afraid of Mamma being at all hurt, if she fancied he meant that they had _not_ enjoyed the seaside after all the trouble and expense she and papa had been at to take them there. For, as he told Lancey afterwards, he was sure he had seen Papa pay _three_ gold pounds for their railway tickets at the station the day they came.

"I hope you will enjoy it very much," said Mamma kindly, "and I am sure you will, and so shall I. It will be so nice to show my little boys some of the places I loved when I was as little as they are."

"And to teach us how to find musherrooms," said Dick, quite satisfied he had got the hard word right this time.

Fernimoor turned out to be very nice, quite as nice as the boys' pleasantest fancies had pictured it. The old-fashioned house was the funniest and prettiest in the world, so was the garden, and the uncle and aunt were the kindest and nicest of old uncles and aunts. There was only one disappointment--and that was the mushrooms!

There had been a good crop of them, said Auntie, a week or two ago, but since then it had been so dry--the whole season had been unusually dry--that there were none at all. Possibly in another ten days or so, _if_ it rained, there might be another crop, but then one scarcely dared wish for rain, it would be so bad for the harvest.

So Mamma and her two little squires wandered about the fields in vain, seeking for the pretty creamy egg-like balls among the grass, which Mamma had so often described.

"It can't be helped," she said. "It's better than if it had done nothing but rain. That would have spoilt our visit, even if we had had basketfuls of mushrooms."

But Lancey and Dick didn't seem quite sure that they agreed with her. They had got the idea of mushrooms so in their heads that I don't think they would have grumbled even if it _had_ rained.

"If only there are some before Mamma's birthday, it won't matter so much," said hopeful little Dick.

Mamma's birthday was the thirteenth of September, and that year it fell on a Monday. All Friday and Saturday it had rained--really poured--and every one was surprised that Lancey and Dick did not grumble at it. By Sunday morning it cleared, and Lancey who was dressed first, ran out into the garden for a stroll before breakfast. Here he met a friend of his--an under-gardener, who had come to do some little piece of work about the hot-houses, which could not be neglected even on Sunday.

"Fine morning, Master Lancey," said the lad. "My, how it did pour yesterday!"

"Griffith," said Lancey, "will the rain have brought up any mushrooms, do you think?"

"Bless you, yes. See here, Master Lancey, just you go down the lane to the left of the lodge till you come to a cottage, then creep through the gate opposite--it's awkward to open, but you'll easily get through--and see if you don't find mushrooms. There'll be lots by to-morrow if we've some sun to-day."

"It's to-morrow I want to get them--to-morrow morning early," said Lancey. "Thank you, Griffith."

After breakfast, Dick in turn went out for a little fresh air--_he_ strolled towards the stables, as he was very fond of one of the dogs there. On his way he came across a groom called Nicholls.

"Good morning, Nicholls," said Dick. "Should you think, Nicholls, there'd be any mushrooms by to-morrow morning?"

"Sure to be, Master Dick. If you're up early, I'll show you the best field in the place for them. Come out to the stable-yard as soon as you're dressed, and I'll show you the way."

"Thank you, Nicholls," said Dick. "Yes, I'll come. Don't tell anybody else, Nicholls."

"No, no, sir, we'll keep it a secret."

Lancey and Dick went to church together and were together as usual all day. But strange to tell, not one word was said by either boy to the other about their plans for the next morning. Some mischievous sprite had put it into their heads, for almost the first time in their lives, to have a secret, and not a kind secret either, each from the other.

"I'm the eldest," thought Lancey. "I think it's only fair I should get the mushrooms for Mamma's birthday."

"Lancey's bigger and stronger than I am," thought Dick. "If he went with me, he'd gather ever so many more, and Mamma wouldn't think it was me at all that had got them."

Monday morning came. The boys slept in separate rooms at Auntie's. Each had a tiny dressing-room with a sofa-bed, so it was easy to get up and dress without "brother" knowing. Lancey was first, but it took him some little time to find Griffith, and to ask him again where to go, which he had partly forgotten. Dick was luckier, for Nicholls was waiting for him, and took him by what he called a short cut, to the field he had described, and helped him over the hedge, telling him the mushrooms grew thickest "a bit up the field."

Up the field trotted Dick, but he had not gone far before he stopped short in surprise. Who was that coming towards him from the other end?

And "who can that be?" thought the new-comer, as a small, stout figure caught _his_ eye--a round, brown-holland little person, not unlike a mushroom button on two legs. "I do believe," he said aloud, "I do believe it's Dick."

"I do believe," said Dick. "I do believe it's Lancey."

They stared at each other for a few minutes, not quite sure what to say or do. Then they thought better of it and burst out laughing.

"It's no good doing without each other," said both together.

The mushrooms were plentiful, and the gathering of them proved quite as nice as Mamma had told them. And it was two very happy little boys who carried up a splendid plateful with "many happy returns" to her door that morning.

But when Mamma had kissed and thanked them, each looked at the other.

"Mamma," said both together, "we weren't going to have been quite good about them," and then they told the whole. "But it was all right at the end," they said, "and oh, Mamma, how do you like the mushrooms cooked? Fried or with sauce? Auntie told us to ask."

"I don't mind," said Mamma, "they are sure to taste good any way, now that they are flavoured with Lancey's and Dick's brotherly love."

A REMARKABLE WATCH.

"May we bathe this morning, Mamma?" said the children, putting their heads in at the door of the drawing-room.

Mamma glanced at the time-piece.

"It is rather late," she said doubtfully. "You would have to be very quick. Which of the big ones are going with you?"

"None of them," answered Joan, the smallest of the small party. "They've all gone for a walk except Lilly, and she's drawing in the garden, but I'm sure she'd come if we asked her. Lilly's always so kind--if only you'd say we might."

"It _is_ so fine and sunny, and the tide won't suit again for ever so many days," added two or three imploring voices.

"Very well, then if Lilly will go you may bathe, but you _must_ be quick. I can't have luncheon kept waiting again," said Mamma.

In another moment loud eager cries from the garden reached her through the open window. "Lilly, Lilly, where are you? Mamma says if you will come--" and then the voices faded away in the distance.

"Poor Lilly," thought Mamma, with a smile. "I wonder if it's a shame of me to let those wild children torment her. I dare say she was counting on a quiet morning."

But whether Lilly was disappointed or not, no sign of anything but content and pleasure appeared on her pretty, bright face when the little group of bathers, all brushed up and tidy again, took their places round the luncheon-table.

"That's right," said Mamma. "You really have been very expeditious this morning. Whom am I to praise?"

She knew before it came what the answer would be.

"Oh, Lilly. Lilly, of course," said Joan, always ready to be spokeswoman. "Lilly made us promise to do exactly as she told us before we went."

"She timed us," said Bill.

"Yes," Joan went on, "wasn't it a good plan? Lilly put her watch on a rock and gave us five minutes to undress in, and a quarter of an hour to stay in the sea, and ten minutes to dress in. Bill and Humphrey were in the gentlemen's dressing-room, of course--that's what we call the other little bay--and Lilly had to roar out to them, 'one minute more only,'--'two minutes more,' just like a railway man at a station. It _was_ such fun, and--"

"My dear Joan, you will never eat your dinner if you chatter so," said her mother, "and we can't wait for you. I am going a long drive this afternoon, and I shall only just have time," and Mamma looked at her watch. "I hope I am a little fast," she added. "What time do you make it, Lilly dear? Your watch is always to be relied on."

Lilly's hand instinctively went to her watch-pocket--then she suddenly looked up with a rather startled expression.

"My watch!" she exclaimed. "I must have left it up stairs. Mamma--_might_ I run up for a moment and see, if you don't mind?"

Mamma nodded. She knew that Lilly's watch was one of the girl's most prized treasures. It was a handsome, though rather bulky one, which had been left to her by her godmother, and Lilly cared for it both because she had loved her godmother, and also for its own sake. It kept excellent time, and never got out of order as the little fairy-like watches that are now the fashion are rather apt to do.

Lilly's moment extended to several minutes without her coming back, and the faces round the table grew rather concerned-looking.

"May I--" Joan was beginning, but just as she spoke Lilly appeared. She was pale, and almost seemed as if she had difficulty in keeping back her tears.

"Mamma," she said, "I can't forgive myself, I am dreadfully afraid my dear watch is gone. I must have left it on the shore."

Up started Bill and Humphrey.

"You'll let us go, Mamma. We don't care about any more dinner. We know where Lilly left it--no one's likely to have been there."

"And the people about here are so honest," said Joan.

"But," said Mamma, "was the stone where you laid it, Lilly, out of reach of the tide? It was almost low tide when you bathed."

All looked startled at this, but the boys persisted.

"All the more reason to go at once," they said, and off they set.

Lilly would fain have gone too, but she gave in to her Mother, and sat quietly, trying to eat, though I fear her luncheon was flavoured by some drops of salt water.

And in a few minutes the whole party started down the road to meet the boys and hear the news.

Alas! as soon as Bill and Humphrey appeared, even in the distance, all hopes were gone. Both boys shook their heads sadly.

"You saw nothing of it?" asked their Mother eagerly. Poor Lilly was past speaking.

"Nothing--as well as we could make out, the tide must have covered the stones where the girls dressed, some time ago," they replied.

"Then I fear there is nothing to be done," said Mamma. "Poor Lilly, I am so sorry for you."

"And to think it was all my own carelessness," sobbed Lilly. "My dear watch and chain--there was the chain too, Mamma."

But Lilly was so seldom careless, and even if she had been so for once, it was in the service of others, that no one would let her blame herself, and all the family joined to try to console her.

"There is one chance," said Bill to Humphrey, when they were alone,--their Mother and elder sisters having gone out for the afternoon,--"the watch is heavy, and the sea is calm. It _may_ be left there when the tide goes back. Let's see--it will be high tide by about five, and low again by eleven. Those stones should be uncovered by ten o'clock, and it is bright moonlight just now. I tell you what, Humphrey, we'll get Mamma's leave to sit up later to-night, and we'll go off to the shore and have another try for the watch and chain."

Humphrey's eyes sparkled with sympathy.

"We'll say nothing to Lilly--it would be cruel to raise her hopes again on such a chance," he said. "We'll only tell Mamma."

The plan was carried out. At ten o'clock that evening, just as poor Lilly was going to bed, and thinking sadly how strange it seemed to have no watch to wind up, two small figures might have been seen in the moonlight, carefully picking their way among the stones over which the little waves were still softly lapping, for the special group of small rocks they were in search of was not yet uncovered.

It was more difficult than they had expected to find the exact spot. The moonlight and the sheen it cast on the water were rather dazzling. The boys crept along slowly and carefully.

"I say, what a beautiful night it is," said Bill. "It's a good thing the watch is a gold one; if it were silver there wouldn't be much chance of seeing it--everything looks silver, and--"

But Humphrey interrupted him.

"This is the place--I'm sure it is--look, the smooth sand just beyond is where the girls jumped in, and--"

In his turn he was interrupted.

"You're right," cried Bill, "and--I do believe--no, there's a little wave hiding it again--now, look, Humphrey--_isn't_ there something glittering still more than the wet stones, down there--on that smooth flat rock?"

Yes--another wave or two came gently lapping in, as if to say good-bye to the treasure they had been playing with, and then the boys stepped forward over the slippery stones, and Bill stooped down and quickly stood up again, with a shout of triumph, for the rescued prize was in his hands.

"And it really doesn't seem much the worse," said he and Humphrey to each other, as they made their way home.

Lilly was not in her first sleep--she was too unhappy to fall asleep as quietly as usual--when a tap at the door made her jump up. There stood her brothers, and behind them Mamma, smiling with pleasure, and for a minute or two Lilly's delight almost stupefied her. She could scarcely believe it was her own dear watch that Bill held out, and when she did believe it, she could not kiss and thank him and Humphrey enough.

The watch had to go to a watch-doctor, of course, and it cost several shillings to put it right, but that is now many years ago, and it still keeps time as well as ever.

Nora and Hilary were staying in the country with their cousins. It was a new part of the world to them, for their own home, though not actually in a town, was not far from one, and therefore far less rich in wild flowers and mushrooms and blackberries, and all such delightful things than the _real_ country place where these fortunate cousins lived.