Glengarry Schooldays [6]
all right. You'll get us." But his face was gray and his eyes were staring, for over his shoulder he could see the jam and he could feel the suck of the water on his legs.
"Oh, Ranald, you can't do it," sobbed Hughie. "Will I paddle underneath?"
"Yes, yes, paddle hard, Hughie," said Ranald, for the jam was just at his back.
But as he spoke, there was a cry, "Ranald, catch it!" Over the slippery logs of the jam came Tom Finch pushing out a plank.
"Catch it!" he cried, "I'll hold this end solid." And Ranald caught and held fast, and the boys on the bank gave a mighty shout. Soon Don came up with his board, and Tom, catching the end, hauled it up on the rolling logs.
"Hold steady there now!" cried Tom, lying at full length upon the logs; "we'll get you in a minute."
By this time the other boys had pulled a number of boards and planks out of the jam, and laying them across the logs, made a kind of raft upon which the exhausted swimmers were gradually hauled, and then brought safe to shore.
"Oh, Ranald," said Tom, almost weeping, "I didn't mean to--I never thought--I'm awfully sorry."
"Oh, pshaw!" said Ranald, who was taking off Hughie's shirt preparatory to wringing it, "I know. Besides, it was you who pulled us out. You were doing your best, Don, of course, but we would have gone under the jam but for Tom."
For ten minutes the boys stood going over again the various incidents in the recent dramatic scene, extolling the virtues of Ranald, Don, and Thomas in turn, and imitating, with screams of laughter, Hughie's gulps and splashings while he was fighting for his life. It was their way of expressing their emotions of gratitude and joy, for Hughie was dearly loved by all, though no one would have dared to manifest such weakness.
As they were separating, Hughie whispered to Ranald, "Come home with me, Ranald. I want you." And Ranald, looking down into the little white face, went. It would be many a day before he would get rid of the picture of the white face, with the staring black eyes, floating on the dark brown water beside him, and that was why he went.
When they reached the path to the manse clearing Ranald and Hughie were alone. For some minutes Hughie followed Ranald in silence on a dog-trot, through the brule, dodging round stumps and roots and climbing over fallen trees, till they came to the pasture-field.
"Hold on, Ranald," panted Hughie, putting on a spurt and coming up even with his leader.
"Are you warm enough?" asked Ranald, looking down at the little flushed face.
"You bet!"
"Are you dry?"
"Huh, huh."
"Indeed, you are not too dry," said Ranald, feeling his wet shirt and trousers, "and your mother will be wondering."
"I'll tell her," said Hughie, in a tone of exulting anticipation.
"What!" Ranald stood dead still.
"I'll tell her," replied Hughie. "She'll be awful glad. And she'll be awful thankful to you, Ranald."
Ranald looked at him in amazement.
"I think I will jist be going back now," he said, at length. But Hughie seized him.
"Oh, Ranald, you must come with me."
He had pictured himself telling his mother of Ranald's exploit, and covering his hero with glory. But this was the very thing that Ranald dreaded and hated, and was bound to prevent.
"You will not be going to the Deepole again, I warrant you," Ranald said, with emphasis.
"Not go to the Deepole?"
"No, indeed. Your mother will put an end to that sort of thing."
"Mother! Why not?"
"She will not be wanting to have you drowned."
Hughie laughed scornfully. "You don't know my mother. She's not afraid of--of anything."
"But she will be telling your father."
This was a matter serious enough to give Hughie pause. His father might very likely forbid the Deepole.
"There is no need for telling," suggested Ranald. "And I will just go in for a minute."
"Will you stay for supper?"
Ranald shook his head. The manse kitchen was a bright place, and to see the minister's wife and to hear her talk was to Ranald pure delight. But then, Hughie might
"Oh, Ranald, you can't do it," sobbed Hughie. "Will I paddle underneath?"
"Yes, yes, paddle hard, Hughie," said Ranald, for the jam was just at his back.
But as he spoke, there was a cry, "Ranald, catch it!" Over the slippery logs of the jam came Tom Finch pushing out a plank.
"Catch it!" he cried, "I'll hold this end solid." And Ranald caught and held fast, and the boys on the bank gave a mighty shout. Soon Don came up with his board, and Tom, catching the end, hauled it up on the rolling logs.
"Hold steady there now!" cried Tom, lying at full length upon the logs; "we'll get you in a minute."
By this time the other boys had pulled a number of boards and planks out of the jam, and laying them across the logs, made a kind of raft upon which the exhausted swimmers were gradually hauled, and then brought safe to shore.
"Oh, Ranald," said Tom, almost weeping, "I didn't mean to--I never thought--I'm awfully sorry."
"Oh, pshaw!" said Ranald, who was taking off Hughie's shirt preparatory to wringing it, "I know. Besides, it was you who pulled us out. You were doing your best, Don, of course, but we would have gone under the jam but for Tom."
For ten minutes the boys stood going over again the various incidents in the recent dramatic scene, extolling the virtues of Ranald, Don, and Thomas in turn, and imitating, with screams of laughter, Hughie's gulps and splashings while he was fighting for his life. It was their way of expressing their emotions of gratitude and joy, for Hughie was dearly loved by all, though no one would have dared to manifest such weakness.
As they were separating, Hughie whispered to Ranald, "Come home with me, Ranald. I want you." And Ranald, looking down into the little white face, went. It would be many a day before he would get rid of the picture of the white face, with the staring black eyes, floating on the dark brown water beside him, and that was why he went.
When they reached the path to the manse clearing Ranald and Hughie were alone. For some minutes Hughie followed Ranald in silence on a dog-trot, through the brule, dodging round stumps and roots and climbing over fallen trees, till they came to the pasture-field.
"Hold on, Ranald," panted Hughie, putting on a spurt and coming up even with his leader.
"Are you warm enough?" asked Ranald, looking down at the little flushed face.
"You bet!"
"Are you dry?"
"Huh, huh."
"Indeed, you are not too dry," said Ranald, feeling his wet shirt and trousers, "and your mother will be wondering."
"I'll tell her," said Hughie, in a tone of exulting anticipation.
"What!" Ranald stood dead still.
"I'll tell her," replied Hughie. "She'll be awful glad. And she'll be awful thankful to you, Ranald."
Ranald looked at him in amazement.
"I think I will jist be going back now," he said, at length. But Hughie seized him.
"Oh, Ranald, you must come with me."
He had pictured himself telling his mother of Ranald's exploit, and covering his hero with glory. But this was the very thing that Ranald dreaded and hated, and was bound to prevent.
"You will not be going to the Deepole again, I warrant you," Ranald said, with emphasis.
"Not go to the Deepole?"
"No, indeed. Your mother will put an end to that sort of thing."
"Mother! Why not?"
"She will not be wanting to have you drowned."
Hughie laughed scornfully. "You don't know my mother. She's not afraid of--of anything."
"But she will be telling your father."
This was a matter serious enough to give Hughie pause. His father might very likely forbid the Deepole.
"There is no need for telling," suggested Ranald. "And I will just go in for a minute."
"Will you stay for supper?"
Ranald shook his head. The manse kitchen was a bright place, and to see the minister's wife and to hear her talk was to Ranald pure delight. But then, Hughie might