CHAPTER VI.

BECKY’S LAST FROLIC.

Teddy Sleeper obeyed Becky’s injunction to wait outside, by passing round school-house, and down the hill, to the window at the end, that he might be in readiness should she desire to signal him during her confinement. He was just in time to witness her descent. She plumped into a cluster of bushes, and for a moment was lost to sight. Even this terrific leap did not surprise the phlegmatic Teddy, who had such an exalted opinion of his sister’s prowess, that, had she jumped from the steeple of the church, he would have expected her to pick herself up as coolly as she did now, emerging from the bushes with ruffled plumage, but without a scratch or bruise.

“Well, Becky, got out sooner than I thought you would. Did he make you read?”

“No, he didn’t,” replied Becky, with a sneer. “It will take a smarter teacher than him to make me do what I don’t want to. He’s nothing but a boy.”

“What will the captain say now, Becky?”

“I don’t care what he says. Guess he don’t like the teacher any better than I do. Come, let’s get away from here; he’ll be after us.”

“That’s so. Where shall we go?”

“Where we were going this morning. We’ve got time to ‘shoot the Basin’ before dinner.”

So saying, Becky, whose hasty exit from the school-room had not allowed her to gain possession of her hat, started off bareheaded, followed by Teddy, along the bank of the river, towards the Corner.

Harry Thompson inherited a streak of the obstinacy which was so apparent in his father. As Becky disappeared from one side of the window, he rushed from the other, caught up his hat, unlocked the door, and hastened down the hill, only to see his unruly pupil climbing a fence twenty rods away. This convinced him that no bones had been broken. But he was not inclined to let the matter drop here; so he returned to the school-room, made all secure, and then started in pursuit.

As he moved along the bank of the river, the leading event of the morning was uppermost in his thoughts. The appearance of his father in the school-room had not been unexpected, and the explanation he had given of his own presence there was perfectly true. Mr. Drinkwater was ill, and had sent him as a substitute. Harry, who was well acquainted with the new school-house affair, had, after consultation with his mother, who visited him daily at Mr. Drinkwater’s residence, where he was domiciled for the express purpose of meeting her, accepted the position that he might try the temper of his father, and pave the way to a reconciliation, if that were possible. He was quietly awaiting the conclusion of the captain’s vehement review of “what he had done for him,” when he expected to have an opportunity to say a word in his own defence; but Miss Becky’s exhibition of _chalkotype_ art interrupted the contemplated plea, and sadly disarranged his plans. His only consolation was, that Mr. Drinkwater would not be able to take charge of the school for several days, and another meeting might be possible.

Becky, in her turn, occupied a share of his thoughtful attention. He had looked forward with pleasure to the meeting with his little playmate, fully expecting that the years which had wrought so much change in his character, would have shaped the little maid, of whom he was so fond,--with her quick wit and active spirit,--into something better than the hoiden he found her. Her saucy movements, her rough appearance, and her rudeness, had startled him; but, remembering the influences by which she was surrounded at home, and the artistic touch displayed at the blackboard, he was convinced that in that little body were capabilities running to waste, which, trained aright, might blossom into usefulness. If his good mother only had the trailing of this wild vine, it would flourish in fruitfulness, and not cumber the ground. It was not yet too late. He would take his mother into his confidence.

Full of thoughts like these, Harry went on, keeping a sharp lookout for the runaway, until he reached the paper-mill at the Corner. Here he was informed that the young Sleepers had gone farther up the river’s bank. Undecided whether to go on or retrace his steps, he passed into the mill, and, meeting his old friend, Mark Small, went over the building with him, viewing the improvements, in which he became so much interested that he quite forgot the object of his expedition.

In the mean time, Becky and Teddy had, after a long tramp, and with no small vaulting of fences and climbing of rocks, reached the Basin.

Rogue’s River, the base of Becky’s future operations, was dammed at three points. The lower dam was at the fore side, the middle dam just above the school-house, and the upper dam at the Corner. Here was located Small’s paper-mill, not a very extensive affair, but which employed a dozen men and as many girls. In the middle of the river, about a quarter of a mile above this mill, was a small island, scarcely twenty feet in circumference, on which flourished a wild growth of unproductive bushes, with one solitary sentinel of a tree in their centre; and above this was the Basin. Into this basin, after a winding flow of ten or twelve miles, increased by several minor streams, the water poured with considerable power. It lay in the form of a heart, so often depicted on valentines, or moulded in sugar for the sweet-toothed. It was about thirty feet from bank to bank, and about the same distance from the point of entrance to the island, which shooting into it, gave it a resemblance to the emblem of affection. Divided by this island, the water swept along on either side in strong, swift currents. When Harry Thompson, as leader of the boys of Cleverly, had exhausted all the known means of amusement, his daring spirit suggested a difficult feat, calculated to carry dismay to the hearts of his followers, and cause uneasiness to those parents who had an interest in the safety of their children. He not only suggested it, but himself performed it, and succeeded in inducing a few of the boldest to follow his example. This feat was known as “shooting the Basin.” Into the winding river he launched a log, of which there were many lying along the banks, a mill hand being employed at this point to draw them out of the stream. Upon this he stepped, with a long, narrow strip of board to serve as a rudder, with which to guide his craft. The force of the stream swiftly carried him into the Basin and towards the island. It was only necessary to keep “her head” straight, and the island was reached.

He accomplished the feat, well knowing the danger he incurred; for, had his craft swerved either to the right or left, he would have been capsized or carried down the river. Of course there could be no returning in the same manner. But, to prevent his becoming a Robinson Crusoe, a tree on the bank was felled so as to bridge the stream from the bank to the island; and there it had remained ever since.

Becky Sleeper, having seen Harry perform this feat, had desired to undertake it; but Harry had strongly objected, and the tomboy, having accepted him as a leader, was obliged to postpone the attempt.

Some recent conversations on old sports between Teddy and herself had awakened a desire to attempt this feat, and a trip to the Basin had already been arranged for Monday, when the school programme was promulgated.

The short session, and Becky’s escape, had made the old arrangement possible; and the young Amazon and her faithful squire were now on the banks of the upper stream, after a quick march, ready to launch their barks upon the tide, careless of consequences.

“Now, Teddy,” said Becky, “I’ll go first: you must watch me closely, and do just as I do. You ain’t scared--are you?”

Teddy, to tell the truth, was looking rather anxiously at the rushing stream, the broad basin, and the two foaming channels beyond. The stream had been swollen by heavy rains, and the feat seemed more difficult than he had imagined before he set out.

“N-o, of course not,” he said slowly. “If you go, I’m bound to anyway.”

“Because, if you are Teddy, you’d better not try it.”

“I will try, Becky. I ain’t a goin’ to be stumped by a girl.”

“All right. But don’t you start until I reach the island; and be sure you keep your log pointed right straight at the tree.”

While speaking, Becky had rolled a short, stout log into the water, picked up a light slab, and was ready for the dash. Stepping lightly and quickly upon the log, she pushed it into the middle of the stream, headed it for the tree, and, carefully guiding her craft, shot across the Basin, and struck the island fairly and squarely.

“Hurrah! I’ve done it Teddy!” she shouted, as she leaped upon the land.

“All right; I’m a comin’. Hooray!” answered Teddy, as he jumped upon his log, which darted down the stream, Teddy dancing rather lively to regain his equilibrium, which had sustained a shock by the sudden dart of his log. He was so busily engaged in this manœuvre that he failed to head his bark as he should, and, instead of going straight across the Basin, he swept to the right.

“Teddy, Teddy, what are you about?” shouted Becky. “Turn her head! quick, quick!”

But Teddy was frightened; his log was rolling over and over, and he dropped his rudder, fell upon the log, and clasped it, with his legs in the water, and round into the swifter of the two currents it went, very near the island. Seeing his danger, Becky ran to the edge of the island, and attempted to rescue him. She leaned far over, lost her balance, and fell into the stream. Bungling Teddy clutched the bushes as he passed, let the log go, and pulled himself to land; but Becky was swept past the island, and went floating down the river.

Teddy, seeing the danger of his sister, shouted lustily for help. Two men, at work near the bank, ran down to the water, saw the struggling girl, but could afford no assistance; but they started off at a swift pace for the mill. Becky was an excellent swimmer; she was not a bit frightened, but struck out bravely in a vain attempt to reach the bank. The stream was strong and swift, and bore her on faster and faster towards the dam. Skillfully she kept her head above water, and struck out to reach Teddy’s log, which was just ahead of her. Fast as she went, the men on the shore flew faster still. It was a case of life and death. They reached the mill.

“Help, help! there’s a girl in the water!”

Men came running out, women ran to the windows; there was wild commotion, but no attempt at rescue.

“We can’t help her; she must go over the dam!”

“Throw her a rope--it’s her only chance!”

“Mighty slim chance: she’s too much frightened to catch it. She can’t be saved!”

“She can be saved! Quick! a long, stout rope!”

It was a commanding voice that spoke, a commanding form that stepped forward--the school-master, Harry Thompson. Quickly a rope was placed in his hand.

“Now, three good, strong fellows, follow me!”

He threw off his coat, ran along the bank, winding the rope around his body, and tying it as he ran. Becky was coming down swiftly, when the roar of the dam reached her ears. For the first time she felt her danger. Instantly all power of exertion forsook her. The terrible dam! the jagged rocks beneath! There was death in the thought, and a shrill scream rang over the water.

“Help, help! Don’t let me drown! don’t let me go over the dam!”

“Courage, Becky, courage. You shall be saved.”

She recognized the voice, even in her agony. “O, Harry, Harry! save me, save me!”

Still on and on she swept, and the roar of the dam grew louder and louder. It seemed to sound in her ears like thunder.

“Now, quick, boys, quick! Give me plenty of rope, and hold on strong!”

Harry Thompson kicked off his shoes and threw away his hat. Becky was moving towards him, but ten feet from the bank. He measured the distance with his eye, stepped back a few paces, then ran quickly, and leaped into the water. The best jumper in the county had well calculated his distance. He struck the water close beside Becky. He clasped her quick, she threw her arms about his neck with a scream of joy, and both sank beneath the water.

Then the good, strong fellows pulled with a will, and in a moment Becky and her preserver were safe on the bank. Such a shout as the good fellows sent up, then such a chorus of shouts as the people at the mill joined to theirs, was never before heard in Cleverly.

But the chorus of rejoicing was unheard by Becky, who lay upon the bank insensible. The girls from the mill gathered about her, rubbed her hands, bathed her temples, and used all the customary means of restoration; but yet she lay there cold and still.

Harry became alarmed. She must be taken home at once.

“Small, bring your wagon--quick! Send a man for the doctor--quick!”

Small’s team was standing at the mill door. In a few moments Harry was in the wagon, with Becky in his arms, and one of the “good fellows” was racing down the road, horseback, for the doctor.

Mrs. Sleeper, weak and dispirited, was in the kitchen, standing at the table, washing the dinner dishes; Aunt Hulda, nursing an attack of lumbago, was groaning at the fireside. A wagon drove swiftly into the yard, a moment, and Harry Thompson stood in the doorway, bearing the insensible form of Becky.

“Mrs. Sleeper, quick! your camphor bottle!”

Mrs. Sleeper dropped the dish in her hands; her eyes glared at the helpless girl. Her lips parted, but no sound came from them. Then her eyes closed, her hands clutched the air, and she fell heavily to the floor. Aunt Hulda ran to her and raised her head.

“Delia Sleeper, what on airth ails you?--Here, you, Henry Thompson, take that girl into the settin’ room. That’s just like you Thompsons--always a scarin’ folks to death.--Delia, Delia! what ails you?”

Aunt Hulda rubbed her, and sprinkled water over her, scolding all the while. Harry carried Becky to the sitting-room, and laid her upon the lounge. As he did so, a sigh, and the opening of her eyes, gave assurance of returning animation; and when, in a few minutes, Dr. Allen entered, there was no occasion for his services, for Becky was sitting up, and inquiring for Teddy, who at that moment was coming down the road, between the mill and the school-house, feeling very wet and mean.

Mrs. Sleeper was carried to her room, and laid upon the bed. Dr. Allen, finding Becky so comfortable, made the former a visit.

“Doctor, what ails her? Is it stericks?”

The doctor shook his head.

“Worse than that, worse than that!”

“You don’t say so! Goodness gracious! it’s purrellysis.”

The doctor nodded. Aunt Hulda was right. The sudden shock, upon the long and weary straining for the ever-distant ship, had snapped the cords of action, and left her powerless.