“Hold on tight, little boy,” he said.  “There’s a boat coming.”

The little boy did not see the boat.  His eyes were closed to shut out the fearful water, but he clung the closer to his young preserver.  Six long, steady strokes, and the boat dashed along side.  Strong hands seized Dick and his youthful burden, and drew them into the boat, both dripping with water.

“God be thanked!” exclaimed the father, as from the steamer he saw the child’s rescue.  “That brave boy shall be rewarded, if I sacrifice my whole fortune to compass it.”

“You’ve had a pretty narrow escape, young chap,” said one of the boatmen to Dick.  “It was a pretty tough job you undertook.”

“Yes,” said Dick.  “That’s what I thought when I was in the water.  If it hadn’t been for you, I don’t know what would have ’come of us.”

“Anyhow you’re a plucky boy, or you wouldn’t have dared to jump into the water after this little chap.  It was a risky thing to do.”

“I’m used to the water,” said Dick, modestly.  “I didn’t stop to think of the danger, but I wasn’t going to see that little fellow drown without tryin’ to save him.”

The boat at once headed for the ferry wharf on the Brooklyn side.  The captain of the ferry-boat, seeing the rescue, did not think it necessary to stop his boat, but kept on his way.  The whole occurrence took place in less time than I have occupied in telling it.

The father was waiting on the wharf to receive his little boy, with what feelings of gratitude and joy can be easily understood.  With a burst of happy tears he clasped him to his arms.  Dick was about to withdraw modestly, but the gentleman perceived the movement, and, putting down the child, came forward, and, clasping his hand, said with emotion, “My brave boy, I owe you a debt I can never repay.  But for your timely service I should now be plunged into an anguish which I cannot think of without a shudder.”

Our hero was ready enough to speak on most occasions, but always felt awkward when he was praised.

“It wasn’t any trouble,” he said, modestly.  “I can swim like a top.”

“But not many boys would have risked their lives for a stranger,” said the gentleman.  “But,” he added with a sudden thought, as his glance rested on Dick’s dripping garments, “both you and my little boy will take cold in wet clothes.  Fortunately I have a friend living close at hand, at whose house you will have an opportunity of taking off your clothes, and having them dried.”

Dick protested that he never took cold; but Fosdick, who had now joined them, and who, it is needless to say, had been greatly alarmed at Dick’s danger, joined in urging compliance with the gentleman’s proposal, and in the end our hero had to yield.  His new friend secured a hack, the driver of which agreed for extra recompense to receive the dripping boys into his carriage, and they were whirled rapidly to a pleasant house in a side street, where matters were quickly explained, and both boys were put to bed.