CHAPTER X

Great Danger

THOUGH Hecla ran and jumped, she could not feel happy. A voice kept saying, deep down in her heart, "You are wrong—you are wrong!" And it would not be silenced.

She was frightened too, when she thought of Miss Anne going indoors to find the children gone. Yet still she went on, drawn river-wards by her vehement longing to find Chris and to have the little boat.

Running nearly all the way, as they did, till Ivy was quite tired and out of breath, it did not take long to reach the covered part of the river, where the stream, fuller and more rapid than usual from recent heavy rain, disappeared for a space and then came flowing out again. And when they arrived, Chris was nowhere to be seen.

"But he said he'd come. He promised he would," cried Hecla.

"Oh, well, I suppose he's changed his mind," Mildred observed, as if it did not matter much either way. "Never mind. I dare say he'll turn up presently."

"But he's got to go to school. There isn't time now," Hecla said dolefully.

"It's ten minutes to four. He could run to school from here in five minutes. We'll wait, anyhow. Come, let's throw in sticks."

She chose one, and flung it in herself, and they ran down the stream, to see it float out from under the arch. Then they raced back in high glee, and threw in three sticks all at the same moment, careering down the road to see which of the three would be foremost.

Once in a while a stick would refuse to appear, having been caught fast somewhere under the arch; and the knowledge that this might happen added to the excitement of their game.

Hecla's stick came out first, whereat she was immensely excited, and called out loudly in her delight. Mildred's appeared next; and Ivy's never turned up at all.

They raced up the stream again, Hecla keeping pace with Mildred, while Ivy toiled more slowly after, her little legs aching with such violent exercise. As she arrived above the covered part, Mildred and Hecla were starting anew, having just flung two biggish boughs into the river.

"Come along," they called to Ivy; but they did not wait to see whether she obeyed.

She was too tired to be off instantly, and also she wanted to follow their example. A storm of wind, two nights earlier, had blown down many boughs, and several lay near at hand.

She chose one taller than herself, lifted it with a great effort, and staggered to the edge of the steep bank, to drop it in.

By this time Mildred was running back; and when she saw what the child was about to do, she raised a shout of warning. "Stop! Stop, Ivy!" she called. "Don't!"

But this had just an opposite result to what Mildred intended. Instead of making Ivy step back, it only made her start and turn, with her back to the river. She was close to the edge; and the sudden movement caused her to over-balance herself. With a sharp cry, she fell backwards into the water, still clasping the bough, and was swept downward towards the covered way.

Hecla and Mildred screamed aloud; and Mildred rushed to the spot from which the little one had fallen—only to see her disappearing under the archway. Then she turned and tore down the stream, frantic with terror; and Hecla rushed thither also, shrieking wildly.

But somebody was before them!

Mildred and Hecla, full of their sport, had not noticed a quiet figure coming along the road from lower down the river. Miss Storey had been to luncheon with friends in that direction, and she was now returning alone. She expected to find her sister and the children somewhere about here, since she was aware of Miss Anne's intention to take them to the river, if Hecla were good.

And as she drew near, walking in her quiet and staid and gentle way, wearing her best black silk gown and beaded black mantle, with new grey kid gloves, she noted three figures some distance ahead, and made out that two of them were Hecla and Ivy. But the third puzzled her. She was rather shortsighted; still she felt sure that her sister Anne never raced about as that third person was doing. So she supposed that somebody else had joined them, and that Miss Anne was near at hand, sitting out of sight and keeping watch.

She followed with her gaze the two elder children racing down the stream and leaving little Ivy alone, and she recognised Mildred, but still saw no signs of Miss Anne anywhere, which seemed strange; so she came faster. And then, to her horror, she noted little Ivy, all by herself with a bough in her arms, going close to the steep edge of the stream, and leaning fearlessly over to pitch the bough in.

It was of no use for Miss Storey to call. Her voice was weak, and she was not near enough. She could only hurry breathlessly on, as she saw the elder children again rushing up the road, and heard Mildred's cry of warning.

And then her heart seemed to stand still, and she turned sick and faint, and a shower of black specks danced before her eyes, as Ivy toppled backwards into the river.

No time was this for giving way to feelings of weakness. Not for one moment did Miss Storey hesitate. She fought the faintness and struggled on, though her knees gave way under her, straight down to the brink. She knew that Ivy might easily be carried past, out of reach; and it was she—little, delicate, timid, nervous Miss Storey—who had to save the child. She could not depend upon Mildred, and nobody else was within sight.

"Oh, auntie, auntie, auntie!" Hecla was screaming from above. "Oh, auntie! Oh, auntie!"

Miss Storey hardly even heard the sound. Her whole mind was bent upon the one thought—that Ivy had to be saved. She was praying that she might be able; not saying words, but lifting up her heart to God, like a child holding out imploring hands with a great silent cry for help. She stepped into the stream, which was swift and strong for so small a river. It swirled round her feet, and lifted her silk skirt, and the chill of it made her shiver and tremble like a person with the ague. Yet she took two more steps, deeper in. For if Ivy were in the middle of the stream, she might not otherwise be able to get hold of her. In a moment—in a moment—one moment more—Ivy would come floating out from under the arch. She paid no attention to the cries of Mildred and Hecla. She was now up to her knees in water, and she had to brace herself against the current, using her silk parasol as a stick. Each instant seemed fearfully long, and a great dread was on her lest the little one should be caught and held somewhere under the archway, as toy-boats were sometimes detained there.

Yet very few seconds passed before a helpless little form was swept to view, in the middle of the current, where it flowed fastest—so few, indeed, that Mildred, tearing down the road, could not be in time. It seemed as if the heavier body of the child was borne along much more rapidly than little boats and sticks; for when Mildred reached the lower end of the covered part, Ivy was already beyond her reach, and had Miss Storey not been standing in the water, some thirty or forty paces below, Ivy must have been carried far down.

Then, in a moment, when it came to the point of action, Miss Storey was strong and calm. She went one step deeper still, bent forward, and caught the little girl in a firm grip, turning to draw her to land. Before they were out, Mildred, wading in, gave help.

Miss Storey sank upon the bank, spent and exhausted, unable to say a word. Her heart was beating in slow, heavy thumps, and she all but lost consciousness. But Mildred roughly strove to rouse her, and Hecla's terrified cries chimed in, and she came to herself, to find a small limp figure lying upon her, the pretty eyes closed, the pretty hair dank and streaming.

"We must get her home at once—at once!" Miss Storey said, in a weak voice, for all her strength seemed gone. "Can you help me to carry her, Mildred? I am a little—shaken." She tried to get up, and fell back, but made a fresh effort, and gained her feet, saying feebly as she stood, "We must make haste."

"I'll carry her. Don't you try!" And Mildred heaved up the dripping, senseless little form. Though big and strong for her age, she was amazed at Ivy's weight, and found it no easy task.

"Hurry, hurry! We must hurry!" Miss Storey spoke like one talking in a dream; Hecla must run home—and tell Aunt Anne.

"Oh, I daren't!" sobbed Hecla.

And at that moment Miss Anne herself appeared, coming fast along the road. She had been kept much longer than she had expected with the baby, and on finding Mildred's scribbled note she had hurried off with all speed to follow the children, very much displeased.

Think what a fright it gave her now to see her sister, soaking wet and white as paper, and hardly able to stagger along, and Mildred carrying that poor little limp figure.

But she took in the whole at once, and wasted no time in questions.

"Mildred, you must take my sister home, and tell Mrs. Prue to see to her," she said. "I shall go straight to Dr. Evans."

She took Ivy from Mildred as she spoke, and though she was so slight and far from strong, an unnatural power seemed to come to her, for she ran almost the whole way from the bridge to the doctor's house, which was nearer than her own home, with that heavy dead weight of the senseless child in her arms.

Happily she found both the doctor and his wife indoors, and not a moment was lost. Everything was instantly done that could be done to save the little life; and in less than half-an-hour, they knew that Ivy was living, though a much longer time passed before she opened her eyes, and longer still before she seemed to know anybody.

Even then she could not be spoken of as out of danger, for the shock had been severe, and the greatest possible care had to be taken. Miss Anne never left her for hours. And the doctor only went away, after a while, to see how Miss Storey was getting on. The two houses being near, he could easily go to and fro.