Happy Days for Boys and Girls Part 2

I threw the long string of scarfs. Gerald dexterously caught it, and upholding the poor boy with one hand, with the other pa.s.sed the string under his arms, and tied the ends of it to his own arm. Then he paused a moment before attempting the hazardous work of coming ash.o.r.e, and looked at me speculatively. I knew what he meant. There was a shadow of trouble in his face that had nothing to do with his own danger. He was weighing the possibility of his falling in, and my doing the same in trying to save him, and Daisy alone on the sh.o.r.e. I gave a cheering "Go ahead, old fellow!" and he began to push himself back again, dragging his senseless burden after him by the scarf tied to his arm.

Crack! crack! crack! went the ice all about him, and little tides of water flooded it. At last it seemed a little firmer. Gerald rose to his feet, and dragging the boy still in the water after him, began to walk slowly towards the sh.o.r.e, not seeming to notice how the sharp edges of the ice cut the face and forehead of the poor half-drowned boy.

Again the ice began to crack and undulate. Gerald stood still for a moment, and the piece on which he stood broke away from the rest, and began to float out. He jumped to the next, which broke, and so to the next, and the next, till he neared the sh.o.r.e. Then he paused a moment, and looked at me.

"Go ash.o.r.e!" he roared like a sea captain.

Then I noticed that I stood on a detached piece of ice, but nearer land than Gerald. I found no difficulty in gaining the sh.o.r.e.

"Now stand firm and give a hand!" said Gerald.

I grasped his hand, and he jumped ash.o.r.e, and together we lifted the boy out of the water. Daisy burst into tears, crying,--

"O, Gerald, Gerald, I thought you'd be drowned!"

Gerald very gently put her clinging arms away from him, saying, firmly,--

"Don't cry, Daisy. We have our hands full with this poor fellow."

I got the skates off the "poor fellow," and gave them to Daisy to hold. She, brave little woman, gulped down her tears, and only gave vent to her emotion, now and then, by a little suppressed sob. Gerald began beating the hands and breathing into the mouth and nostrils of the seeming lifeless form before us.

"Is he dead, Gery?" said I.

"No!" said Gerald, fiercely. It was evident that he wouldn't believe he had gone through so much trouble to bring a dead man ash.o.r.e. "Look for his handkerchief, and see if there's a mark on it."

I fished a wet rag out of the wet trousers pocket, and found in one corner of it the name "Stevens."

"There's a farmer of that name two miles farther on. I don't know any one else of that name. Must be his son. We'll take him home;" and he began wrapping his coat about the poor boy; but I insisted on mine being used for the purpose, as Gerald was half wet, and his teeth were already chattering. "We must get him off this wet ground as soon as possible," said Gerald; and together we lifted him, and slowly and laboriously bore him to the donkey-cart in the road.

By this time Gerald had only strength enough to hold the reins, and we set out forthwith for the Stevens farm, I, with what help Daisy could give, trying to bring some show of life back to the stranger. Perhaps the jolting of the cart helped,--I don't know,--but by and by he began to revive, and at last we propped him up in one corner of the cart, with his head supported by Daisy's knee.

I shall not soon forget how long the road seemed, and how I got out and walked in deep mud, and how, when poor Rough seemed straining every muscle to make the little cart move at all, Gerald insisted on getting out, too, and leading Rough; how the sun set as we were wading through a long road, where willow trees grew thick on either side, and Daisy said, "See; all the little p.u.s.s.ies are out!" how, at last, we reached the Stevens farm, and restored the half-drowned boy to his parents. I remember, too, how they were so utterly absorbed, very naturally, in the welfare of their boy, as to forget all about us, and offer us no quicker means of return home than our donkey-cart.

They came to call on us the next day, and to thank us, and specially Gerald, with tears of grat.i.tude. And Gerald was a hero in the village from that day forth.

I remember well how dark it grew as we waded slowly and silently home, and how poor little Rough did his very best, and never stopped once.

I think he understood the importance of the occasion; but those who were not Rough's friends, believe it was a recollection, and expectation of supper, that made him acquit himself so honorably.

As we neared our home, we saw a tall figure looming up in the dark, and soon, by the voice, we knew it was Michael, one of the farm hands, sent to seek us.

"Bluder an nouns," he exclaimed, "it is you, Mister Gery! An' yer m.u.t.h.e.r, poor leddy, destroyed wid the fright. An' kapin' the chilt out to this hair. Hadn't ye moor sense?"

We explained briefly; and Daisy begged to be carried, as the cart was all wet.

With many Irish expressions of sympathy, Michael took the child in his arms; and so we arrived at home, and found father and mother half distracted with anxiety, and the farm hands sent in all directions to look for us. We were at once, all three of us, put to bed, and made to drink hot lemonade, and have hot stones at our feet, and not till then tell all our experiences, which were listened to eagerly.

Daisy escaped unhurt, I with a slight cold, but Gerald and poor little Rough were the ones who suffered. Gerald had a severe attack of pneumonia, from which we had much ado to bring him back to health, and Rough was ill. They brought us the news from the stable on the next morning. We couldn't tell what was the matter; perhaps he had strained himself, perhaps had caught cold. We could not tell, nor could the veterinary surgeon we brought to see him. Poor Rough lay ill for weeks, and one bright spring morning he died.

They told us early in the morning, before we were out of bed, how, an hour ago, Rough had died.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE MUSIC LESSON.]

THE MUSIC LESSON.

Touch the keys _lightly_, Nellie, my dear: The noise makes Johnnie Impatient, I fear.

He looks very cross, I am sorry to see-- Not looking at all As a brother should be.

Whatever you're doing, Bear this always in mind: In all _little things_ Be both _thoughtful_ and _kind_.

THE FROST.

The frost looked forth one still clear night, And whispered, "Now I shall be out of sight; So through the valley and over the height In silence I'll take my way: I will not go on like that bl.u.s.tering train, The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain, Who make so much bustle and noise in vain, But I'll be as busy as they."

Then he flew to the mountain, and powdered its crest; He lit on the trees, and their boughs he dressed In diamond beads; and over the breast Of the quivering lake he spread A coat of mail, that it need not fear The downward point of many a spear That he hung on its margin, far and near, Where a rock could rear its head.

He went to the windows of those who slept, And over each pane like a fairy crept: Wherever he breathed, wherever he stept, By the light of the moon were seen Most beautiful things: there were flowers and trees; There were bevies of birds and swarms of bees; There were cities with temples and towers, and these All pictured in silver sheen!

But he did one thing that was hardly fair: He peeped in the cupboard, and finding there That all had forgotten for him to prepare-- "Now, just to set them a-thinking, I'll bite this basket of fruit," said he, "This costly pitcher I'll burst in three, And the gla.s.s of water they've left for me Shall 'tchick!' to tell them I'm drinking."

[Ill.u.s.tration: {A woman and two children with a calf}]

MY PICTURE.

I have a little picture; Perchance you have one too.

Mine is not set in frame of gold; 'Tis first a bit of blue, And then a background of dark hills-- A river just below, Along whose broad, green meadow banks The wreathing elm trees grow.

Upon an overhanging ridge A little farm-house stands, Whose owner, like the man of old, Has builded "on the sands;"

And yet, defying storms and wind, It stands there all alone, And brightens up the landscape With a beauty of its own.

Fairy-like my picture changes As the seasons come and go.

Now it glows 'neath summer's kisses; Now it sleeps 'mid winter's snow.

I can see the breath of spring-time In the river's deeper blue, And autumn seems to crown it With her very brightest hue.

Ah. I'd not exchange my picture For the choicest gem of art; Yet I must not claim it wholly; It is only mine in part; For 'tis one of nature's sketches-- A waif from that Great Hand Which hath filled our earth with models Of the beautiful and grand.