The next moment she heard a call,
and scrambling up the bank, saw John among the reedy pools a little
way down, dragging the boy after him.
She dashed and splashed to the spot and helped to drag the child to a
drier place, where they all three sank on the grass, the boy, a
sturdy fellow of seven years old, lying unconscious, and the other
two sitting not a little exhausted, Sydney scarcely less drenched
than the child. She was the first to gasp—-
"The boy?"
"He'll soon be all right," said John, bending over him. "How came-—"
"I came suddenly on them-—him and his brother—-birds'-nesting. In
his fright he slipped in. I just caught him, but the other ran away,
and I could not pull him up. Oh! if you had not come."
John hid his face in his hands with a murmur of intense thanksgiving.
"You should get home," he said. "Can you? I'll see to the boy."
At this moment the keeper came up full of wrath and consternation, as
soon as he understood what had happened. He was barely withheld from
shaking the truant violently back to life, and averred that he would
teach him to come birds'-nesting in the park on Sunday.
And when, after he had fetched John's coat and boots, Sydney bade him
take the child, now crying and shivering, back to his mother, and
tell her to put him to bed and give him something hot he replied—-
"Ay, ma'am, I warrant a good warming would do him no harm.
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