“I’ll set thee a craddy, Tom!  Thou dar’n’t go over yon black line in the water, out into the real river.”

Of course the challenge was not to be refused; and Tom paddled away towards the dark line, beyond which the river swept with smooth, steady current.  Ruth (a child in years herself) stood at the top of the declivity watching the adventurer, but as unconscious of any danger as the group of children below.  At their playfellow’s success, they broke through the calm gravity of observation into boisterous marks of applause, clapping their hands, and stamping their impatient little feet, and shouting, “Well done, Tom; thou hast done it rarely!”

Tom stood in childish dignity for a moment, facing his admirers; then, in an instant, his washing-tub boat was whirled round, and he lost his balance, and fell out; and both he and his boat were carried away slowly, but surely, by the strong full river which eternally moved onwards to the sea.

The children shrieked aloud with terror; and Ruth flew down to the little bay, and far into its shallow waters, before she felt how useless such an action was, and that the sensible plan would have been to seek for efficient help.  Hardly had this thought struck her, when, louder and sharper than the sullen roar of the stream that was ceaselessly and unrelentingly flowing on, came the splash of a horse galloping through the water in which she was standing.  Past her like lightning—­down in the stream, swimming along with the current—­a stooping rider—­an outstretched grasping arm—­a little life redeemed, and a child saved to those who loved it!  Ruth stood dizzy and sick with emotion while all this took place; and when the rider turned the swimming horse, and slowly breasted up the river to the landing-place, she recognised him as the Mr. Bellingham of the night before.  He carried the unconscious child across his horse, the body hung in so lifeless a manner that Ruth believed it was dead; and her eyes were suddenly blinded with tears.  She waded back to the beach, to the point towards which Mr. Bellingham was directing his horse.

“Is he dead?” asked she, stretching out her arms to receive the little fellow; for she instinctively felt that the position in which he hung was not the most conducive to returning consciousness, if indeed it would ever return.

“I think not,” answered Mr. Bellingham, as he gave the child to her, before springing off his horse.  “Is he your brother?  Do you know who he is?”

“Look!” said Ruth, who had sat down upon the ground, the better to prop the poor lad, “his hand twitches! he lives; oh, sir, he lives!  Whose boy is he?” (to the people, who came hurrying and gathering to the spot at the rumour of an accident).

“He’s old Nelly Brownson’s,” said they.  “Her grandson.”

“We must take him into a house directly,” said she.  “Is his home far off?”

“No, no; it’s just close by.”