Mark Charlesworth, one of the boys, rushed to the side of Beth’s mother.

“Oh, Mrs. Davenport, she’ll surely drown unless some one saves her.  A boy was drowned just that way last winter.”

Mrs. Davenport was almost frenzied.  She could not swim and she knew that personally she could not rescue her child.  She looked in vain for assistance.

The other children had come from the water, and rushed frantically up and down the beach wringing their hands in terror.

Beth realized that her position was critical, and she struck out with such desperate energy that soon she felt her strength failing her.  Terror seized upon her so that she feared she could not keep up another instant.

“Mamma,” she screamed, “I’m sinking.”

Mrs. Davenport’s heart grew leaden.  Was there no hope for her child?  Must she stand helpless and see her drown?  No, no, there must be some way of saving her.  She would not despair.

“Dearie, don’t give out,” she cried; “mamma will save you.”

The words strengthened Beth to strive anew.  At this instant, Mrs. Davenport’s eye rested upon Don lying fast asleep in the shade.  Her heart seemed to jump into her mouth in the intensity of a new hope.

“Don, Don, go to Beth,” she cried.

But Don would not heed.  He did not realize the danger.  He was tired and wished to sleep.

“Beth, call Don.”

Beth who was drifting farther and farther away heard, and yelled: 

“Don, Don.”

The dog immediately pricked up his ears.  Then he jumped to his feet.

“Don, Don.”

At that second appeal, he bounded into the water.

Mrs. Davenport felt like falling on her knees in thanksgiving.

“Dearie, don’t give up.  Don’s coming.”

Beth heard and her strength revived sufficiently for her to struggle afresh against that terrible undertow.

The big waves swirled around Don who swam directly towards Beth.

Mrs. Davenport’s heart almost stood still while her anxious eyes kept watch on her struggling child and the noble dog.

“Thank God, the eddy has Don too in its wake and is helping him on to my child.  Beth’s strength again seems to be failing.  Will she be able to hold out?  On, Don, on.  Supposing he cannot make it.  Supposing the child sinks before he reaches her?” These seconds of watching seemed an eternity to the frantic mother.

“Thank God, he is almost within reach of her.  Bravo, Don, bravo.  He has Beth fast by the bathing suit.  Brave, brave dog.  Now he has headed towards shore.  Will he ever be able to make it with that awful undertow to work against besides the extra precious burden he carries?  How heroically he struggles.  Oh, noble, noble Don, you will save her yet, and keep a mother’s heart from breaking.  Yes, he is slowly but surely making headway against the eddying waters.  Now, now, his feet surely touch bottom.  Yes, and Beth knows it and struggles to her feet.  Thank God, she is still conscious.”