Part 10

And with a powerful overhand stroke he ploughed his way through the rippled brine, his shoulders gleaming white as he bent to his work.

Jack, using the ordinary breast stroke, kept close up to him, and they worked too hard to do much talking until the centre of the Arm was reached, and they could see the whole beautiful sheet of water from end to end.

Then they paused, and Frank, saying he was beginning to feel tired, turned over on his back for a little rest, Jack forthwith imitating his example.

"Sakes alive, but this water is cold!" cried Jack. "If we stay in it much longer we'll be getting the cramps. Let's make for the shore."

"All right! Go ahead; I'm after you," replied Frank.

Jack accordingly turned his face shoreward, and, trying the side stroke now, was making pretty good progress, having got about half-way in, when a cry from Frank, who was a few yards behind, made him stop suddenly and wheel round to see what was the matter.

"Come here, Jack," said Frank, in a troubled voice.

And Jack immediately went back to him.

"What's the matter, old chap?" asked he anxiously

"Why," answered Frank, "I seem to be losing all my strength. See! I can hardly take a stroke."

And, sure enough, his strength seemed to have left him. and instead of the wide, powerful sweeps he usually made, he could manage to do little more than paddle enough with his hands to keep his head afloat.

The fact of the matter was that he had been seized with muscular cramp, and was in great danger, for there was no boat in sight, and the shore lay nearly fifty yards away, with water deep enough between to swallow an ocean steamer.

Jack fully realized the danger, but was too sensible to say so. Taking a firm, grasp of Frank's right shoulder with his left hand, he said cheerily,--

"Come along now; I'll give you a lift."

Then, putting forth all his strength, he pushed Frank forward; while the latter could just manage to keep his head above water, and pointed in the right direction.

In this fashion they crept slowly along, Frank growing more helpless and Jack more tired every yard. Frank now could not even keep his mouth above water, for the deadly cramp was drawing him all together, his back being bent like a bow, and his arms and legs contracted until they were almost altogether useless.

Jack, too, began to feel the cruel cold fastening upon him, and his strength departing from him. His heart sank as he looked at the distance still ahead, and felt himself weakening at every stroke.

In his extremity, the temptation to let go of Frank, and strike for the shore alone, even flashed into his mind, only to be contemptuously dismissed with the silent resolution to stay by his friend whatever happened.

At length, by dint of grim determination, Jack got Frank within ten yards of the shore, and then, feeling as though any further effort on his part were impossible, he gave him a big push forward, saying,--

"Now then, Frank, do the rest yourself."

With a muffled, half-finished cry of "For heaven's sake, Jack!" poor Frank, utterly helpless, went under, half turning over on his back as he did so.

Not for a moment did Jack hesitate. Weak and chilled as he was, the sight of his playmate's peril nerved him to fresh exertions, and summoning all his energies for one supreme final effort, he grasped Frank's shoulder once more, and with desperate spasmodic strokes fought his way through the water.

Never will he forget that wrestle with death. Frank, fortunately, still keeping collected and quiet, could get but an occasional breath, for now nearly his whole face was submerged, and Jack himself seemed to be swimming in some dense fluid that stubbornly opposed the movements of his arms. But foot by foot he struggled on, until at length, just when every atom of strength and hope seemed exhausted, he saw below him the dark, seaweed-covered rock, and putting down his foot, found solid bottom beneath him.

"Thank the merciful Father, we're saved, Frank!" he cried, half sobbingly, as he drew his companion up on to the rock.

"God bless you, Jack! you've saved my life," replied Frank, with a fervour that showed how clearly he understood the magnitude of the peril through which he had passed. "Yes, Jack, you've saved my life, and some day I'll show you how grateful I am."

"Oh, that's all right!" said Jack. "You'd do the same for me if you had the chance."

"I hope I won't have the chance, all the same," answered Frank, "for perhaps I wouldn't keep as cool as you did; and then where would we be?"

Half-an-hour's basking in the hot sun took all the cramp out of the boys' bodies, and they went back home, not a whit the worse for their experience, and a good deal wiser. They kept the matter to themselves, prudently thinking it would only alarm their parents if it came to their ears, and perhaps make them worry, while really there was no occasion for further anxiety.

The following Saturday afternoon was the time fixed for the swimming race, and the two friends practised diligently, determined that the sovereign should fall to one of them at all events, or perhaps be divided between them if they came out a tie.

The eagerly-anticipated day dawned sunnily, and proved as fine, bright, and warm as heart could wish. A great deal of interest was felt in the swimming race, for at least six boys had entered for it, and in the afternoon the Arm, at the place where the swimming would take place, was dotted over with boats, containing the fathers, mothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, and friends of the different contestants.

Uncle William (or, to give him his proper title, Mr. William Cunard) was the judge at the finish, and the six boys, wearing the scantiest possible bathing suits, were rowed across to the other side of the Arm in boats.

"I'm awfully excited," said Jack Stone to Frank Brookfield on the way over, in so low a tone that none of the other boys heard him. "Father says he'll double the prize if I win. But if I don't win, I hope to goodness you will."

"Whoever wins will have a hard fight for it," said Frank. "Both George and Hal can swim like fishes. I don't know about the other two."

Presently the boat touched the shore, and the boys all leaped out and took up their positions upon the ledge of rock from which they were to start.

"Are you ready?" called out the starter. "Then go."

And with a tremendous splash the whole six plunged into the water like one man.

The next moment they were all at the surface again, and cleaving the calm water at the top of their speed.

Frank was using his favourite overhand stroke, Jack the side stroke, and the rest the ordinary breast stroke.

For some distance there was little difference between them. You might have covered them with a handkerchief, so to speak. Then, little by little, Frank and Jack, keeping well together, began to draw away from George and Hal, who in their turn led the other two.

By the time the centre of the Arm was reached, it was plain to all that the race lay between the two friends, and amid cheers and shouts of "Go it, Frank!" "Hit her up, Jack!" "Pretty work, both of you; keep it up!" they ploughed through the water side by side.

Three-fourths of the distance was now covered, and their positions were unchanged, when with a pang that went right to his heart Jack felt himself weakening.

Inch by inch his stroke shortened, and first Frank's head, then his neck, then his shoulders slipped past him.

Gritting his teeth with fierce determination, and breathing hard, he strained every nerve to recover his lost ground; but all in vain. Frank gained steadily until his heels were in a line with Jack's head.

Already they were raising the shouts of victory, when Frank, turning to see what lead he had, caught sight of Jack's pale face, in which disappointment and despair were already showing themselves, and it brought up in his mind that same face a week before, when, pallid but resolute, just as it was now, it cut the water close beside him, while the boy to whom it belonged struggled so bravely with the death that threatened.

A mist came in his eyes and a lump rose in his throat as he thought of this.

"He saved my life," he murmured to himself.

"Hallo! what's up with Frank?" said Mr. Cunard. "He has almost stopped. He must be done out. Just shove out that boat there toward him, will you?"

"Go on and win, old chap," said Frank to Jack, when the latter came up to him. "I'm used up. I'll just paddle in slowly. Oh, I'm all right," he added, as Jack showed signs of stopping to help him, "Tired out, that's all."

Cheer after cheer rang out as Jack, nearly exhausted himself, but undaunted in spirit, swept by Frank, now paddling quite leisurely, and finished the course amidst a general chorus of congratulation.

He felt as proud as Punch, and when Frank came ashore, threw his arms around him affectionately, saying,--

"You're a dear, good fellow to let me beat you."

Not that he had the slightest suspicion as to how it had really happened.

Frank never told him. Indeed he never told anybody except his mother, and she alone of all the people who witnessed it knew the secret of Frank Brookfield's sudden collapse in the swimming match at the Arm.

*HAROLD'S LASTING IMPRESSION.*

"Harold, Harold, Harold!" cried Mrs. Owen, at the top of her clear, strong voice, her anxiety increasing as no answer came back. "Mercy on me! what can have become of that boy? As sure as anything, he has gone down to the wharf again--and after all that I have said to him too. I do wish something would make a lasting impression upon him." And with a feeling of uneasiness she could not shake off, the troubled mother went back to her house-work, sighing over her boy's disobedience.

Now Harold Owen was not really a bad boy. He loved his mother dearly, and always felt sorry when he had grieved her; but he was such a thoughtless little chap. Eight years old last October; stout, cheery, and brave; full to overflowing of animal spirits; eager to do everything he saw the older boys doing, and always wanting to be with them; quite as heedless and forgetful as he was affectionate and obliging, sturdy little Hal was just the kind of boy to make a mother whose only child he was no less anxious than proud about him. And in these lovely summer days, when nobody wanted to be indoors between daylight and dark, except to eat their meals, poor Mrs. Owen had her hands full in trying to keep track of her son, who would stray off in spite of her orders to stay near home. You see, Harold did not just mean to flatly disobey his mother. For days together he would do exactly what she told him, and make her very happy. But every now and then some of the boys in the neighbourhood--Jack Hardie, perhaps, or Frank Lawson--would come along, and get talking with Hal over the garden fence; and as sure as they did, it ended in the little fellow's forgetting all about his mother's commands, and going off to the wharves, where sometimes he stayed so long as to give his mother quite a fright.

That was exactly what had happened this glorious July morning, when Mrs. Owen, missing her boy's shouts from the front garden, ran out to the door, her bare arms all white with flour, for she had been making a cake, and called "Harold, Harold, Harold!" so loud that you might have heard her half-way down to the wharves. If, indeed, she could have been heard all the way down, perhaps her call might have brought Harold back; and in that case he should not have got his lasting impression, and I would have had no story to tell. But just at this time our little man was altogether too much taken up with what Jack Hardie was telling him to hear anything less noisy than a steam-engine.

"I'll bet my boots, Hal, you never saw such a funny little chap in your life. He is about as big as our baby, but nothing like so fat, and he has long hair all over him--over his face too--and he jumps around, and talks away at the fellows, and sits up on his hind legs to eat nuts and crackers. Oh, I tell you he's lots of fun!"

This was part of Jack's account of a very interesting monkey belonging to the black cook of a large ship then at the wharf; and it was the promise of showing him this monkey--what eight-year-old boy could resist such a temptation?--that had lured Hal away from home. Down to the wharf they ran as fast as their legs could carry them, and there they found half-a-dozen other youngsters much about their own age, all evidently bent on the same errand. The stately _Roseneath_ lay right across the end of the wharf, and was being fed with long, yellow, sweet-smelling deals that would make houses in England some day. The boys stood for a while watching the huge planks sliding through the bow-ports into the dark mysterious hold, and then there was a general rush for the stern, where they expected to find the rope-ladder by which they would climb on board. But, much to their disappointment, no ladder could they see, and no way of climbing up except a thick rope that dangled over the side, reaching quite down to the wharf; the truth of the matter being that the sailors, getting rather tired of the boys' frequent invasions, had taken away the ladder and put the rope in its place, thinking thus to put a stop to their coming on board. The tide was high, and the great black hull of the ship towered above the wharf like the side of a house. The boys looked pretty blank at first; but then you know it takes a good deal to stop an enterprising boy when his heart is set on anything; and presently, after a little talk together, Jack Hardie said he would see if he couldn't shin up the rope. So he clasped the rope tight in his brown fists, twined his strong legs around it, and up he went, not very fast, to be sure, but gaining a bit at every wriggle, until at last he reached the bulwarks, and the boys gave him a cheer as he called out, "Come along, fellows; it's not so hard; you can all do it." Frank Lawson tried next, and he got up all right. Then Charley Wright followed. And now Master Harold thought he would try his luck. So, too, did Jim Norton; and when Harold got the rope first, it made Jim so cross that, like the rough, heedless chap he was, he gave Hal an angry push just as the little man had let go from the wharf, and was clinging to the rope.

Of course, Jim did not really mean any harm, but he came pretty near doing dreadful harm all the same; for his push was such a hard one that it loosened unlucky little Hal's hold upon the rope, and with a cry of fright down he dropped between the vessel and the wharf, falling with a great splash into the dark green water.

Poor little Hal! you may well wish you had not disobeyed your mother's orders, for now there is small chance of your ever being able to disobey them again. The tide had begun to run out, and although Harold struggled up to the surface twice, so that his terrified playmates caught a glimpse of his pale, frightened face for a moment, the cruel current dragged him down again, and the horrid salt water rushed into his mouth, as he opened it to cry for help. His father had given him some lessons in swimming that summer, and he tried to put them in practice now, striking out bravely with his plump fists and sturdy legs; but of course such swimming as that could not help him, and he sank deeper and deeper. Then at last he gave up trying to save himself. He lost all sense of suffering, and as he drifted passively away with the current, a strange thing happened to him--something that he will never forget, though he lives a hundred years--and it was this: all his past life appeared before his mind in a series of pictures, in fact, just like the panorama of the American rebellion he had enjoyed the winter before. All his doings, good and bad, but more particularly the bad ones, seemed to come up clearly before him, and as he saw what a naughty, thoughtless boy he had been, he felt sorry enough never to disobey his dear, fond mother again. But wasn't it too late now?

* * * * *

What! up in the sunshine once more, and sitting on the solid yellow deals, with his companions crowding round him, laughing and crying, and patting him on the back, and acting so comically, while all the time the water is dripping down off his clothes, and making a puddle at his feet, and he does feel so uncomfortable underneath his blouse. And who is the big strong man standing near, just as wet as himself, and looking at him with his handsome bronzed face full of pride and pleasure? And isn't that father coming down the wharf as hard as he can run, with face so white that he looks like a ghost?

Bewildered little Hal couldn't at first understand what it all meant; and when his father, catching him up in his arms, pressed him passionately to his breast, the little man just burst out crying, and hid his wet face on his father's shoulder. In this fashion he went back home, the boys following in a triumphal procession.

An hour afterwards, when Master Harold had got rid of the uncomfortable feeling under his blouse, and put on a warm, dry suit of clothes, Jack Hardie told him how, when he fell plump into the water, the boys had all shouted out for help; and how the mate of the _Roseneath_ had sprung out of his cabin at the first cry, and, directed by Jack, without waiting even to take off his coat, had dived right down into the deep, dark water: how he had come up once without finding Hal, and, after taking breath, had gone down a second time in search of him; how he had hunted around in the water until at last, seeing something black below him, he had stretched down his leg, and his toe catching Hal under the chin, the gallant mate drew him up into his arms, and then made for the daylight; and how, when Harold first came out of the water, he seemed to be dead, but in a few minutes came to life again, and sat up, blinking his eyes like a young baby. All this, and more too, did Jack Hardie, proud of having such an audience--for, besides Mr. and Mrs. Owen, a dozen or more of the neighbours had run in to hear all about it--relate with great gusto. And as Harold realized how very near he had come to losing his life, and looked into his darling mother's face streaming with tears of joy and gratitude, which but for the brave sailor would have been tears of bitter sorrow, he gathered up his little features into a most determined expression, and said,--

"Mother, I'll never disobey you again."

Thus did his mother get her wish, and Master Harold his lasting impression, which many a time saved him from falling again into disobedience.

*HOW WILBERFORCE BRENNAN VISITED WHITE BEAR CASTLE.*

"Wilby! Wilby! come here; I want you," called a woman's shrill voice at the foot of the stairs. And down from the little attic room came the answer promptly,--

"All right, mother; I'm just coming."

A minute later a stout, hearty lad of fifteen presented himself before his mother, and dutifully awaited her commands.

"Why, Wilby," said she, "I was just thinking I had better send you over to Aunt Matilda's to tell her that your father was going to town to-morrow. She's pretty sure to want him to do something for her, and he goes so seldom nowadays she'll be disappointed if we don't let her know."

"Well, mother," replied the boy, looking rather doubtfully out of the window, from which a vast expanse of desolate, snow-covered fields could be seen, "it's not just the best kind of an afternoon to be going away over to aunty's. There's a heap of snow on the ground, it's awfully cold, and the wind's rising."

"Tut! what does a big strong boy like you care for the cold? Besides, you can put on your snow-shoes, and take the short cut through the wood-lot. You won't feel the wind in the woods. I really must send Aunt Matilda word, and father won't have time to go over himself."

"Very well, mother, if I must I must, I suppose; but, all the same, I wish it could wait till to-morrow."

So saying, Wilby, with a sigh of resignation, went off to get ready for his tramp.

It was no trifling affair, this errand over to Aunt Matilda's, I can tell you. She lived six good miles away by the road, and even taking the short cut through the pasture and wood-lot, it was not less than four miles.

Of course, with fine weather and good going, four miles was not much of a task for Wilby's sturdy legs, and he never failed to get so warm a welcome and such delicious cake at his aunt's that generally he was only too glad to go. But in mid-winter, with four feet of snow on the ground, the thermometer right down to zero, and the wind cutting like a knife, it seemed a very different matter.

However, Wilby, as his mother called him for short (Wilberforce being kept for company or for when she wanted to be very emphatic), was quite as plucky as he was obedient, and a quarter of an hour after his mother first called him he started out on his errand, muffled up to the eyes, with his snow-shoes well strapped to his feet, and his good dog Oscar trotting along beside him. It was well for him that he did have wise old Oscar, as we shall presently see.

Bending his head low, so as to protect his face as much as possible from the keen wind, and swinging his arms to and fro in time with his stride, Wilby went swiftly down the hillside, across the river, and up the other slope, until he reached the shelter of the woods, where the wind bothered him no longer, and he could take things more quietly.

Oscar ran soberly along at his heels, and Wilby was glad of his company, for the short winter day was already drawing to a close, and the lonely wood-lot was not the most cheerful place in the world to be in at that time.

Wilby was a great boy for books, and had just finished reading Colonel Knox's delightful story, "The Voyage of the _Vivian_," of which the most interesting part to him had been that relating to the polar bears; and now, as he trudged steadily along through the silent woods, he fell to thinking about these bears, and wondering what he should do supposing he should meet one.

Of course, he knew well enough that the nearest white bear was at least a thousand miles away, and that even an ordinary black bear had not been seen in that neighbourhood for years; but, all the same, he could not get those cruel white monsters out of his thoughts. In fact, he became quite nervous over them, and would peer eagerly ahead and anxiously around, just as if one of them might rush in upon him at any minute.

At length his nervousness got so much the better of him that walking seemed altogether too slow, and he started off on the hard run. Only two miles of the distance to Aunt Matilda's was left at this time, and one of these soon disappeared as Wilby hurried onward, with Oscar bounding joyfully beside him.

Ten minutes more at the farthest, and they would be safe at their destination. Already Wilby thought he could catch through the trees a gleam of light from the kitchen window, when suddenly something unfortunate happened.

It had been hard work keeping to the wood path, so buried was it under the snow; and he must have strayed a little from it, for he found his way barred by a huge tree-trunk, which certainly ought not to have been there.

The wisest thing, of course, would have been to retrace his steps a bit; but instead of that, Wilby rashly tried a running leap over the obstacle, and it was not a success.

Without snow-shoes he might have cleared it easily; but with these encumbrances on his feet, he not only made a very poor attempt, but in some way or other they got entangled together, and in a violent effort to keep his balance, he sprained his right ankle so badly that, to his great dismay, he found he could no longer bear any weight upon it.