Ethel Morton at Chautauqua Part 38

"How are we going to turn round?" Ethel Brown asked when they were rested.

"Pull one oar and the boat will turn away from the side of that oar. You pull, Ethel Blue. See it turn?"

"It's mighty slow work," puffed Ethel Blue.

"And a huge big circle you're making," laughed Roger. "Ethel Brown can help you by backing water."

"How do I do that?"

"It's the exact opposite of regular pulling. That is, dip your oar into the water first and then push your arms and body forward. Do you see?

That makes the boat go stern first instead of bow first. Here's your count; dip, push, lift, pull; dip, push, lift, pull."

The two girls tried it together and the boat soon was going backward as fast as they had previously made it go forward.

"Now we'll try this turning around business again," directed Roger.

"Ethel Blue will row the regular way; that will turn the boat in a wide circle as we saw. Ethel Brown will back water at the same time. That will make the boat turn a much smaller circle, and in a minute we'll lay our course for the sh.o.r.e. Ready? One, two, three, four; one, two, three, four. Now stop backing water, Ethel Brown, and row ahead. One, two, three, four," counted Roger patiently until the bow grated on the pebbles.

"That's enough for to-day," he decided. "You mustn't get so tired out that you won't want to have another go at it to-morrow. Remember, step in the middle of the boat and way out over the side. There you are," and he walked away toward the grove of trees where he had left his mother, whistling loudly and followed by the Ethels' cheerful "Thank you."

"It makes you hungry," commented Ethel Brown. "I believe I'll go and see if there are any signs of luncheon."

"I'll be there in a little while. I think I'll rest under that tree over there for a few minutes."

Ethel Blue was more tired than she realized, and, when she had made herself comfortable, curled up under an oak that was separated from the landing by a narrow point of land and some tall sedges, she fell sound asleep.

It was perhaps half an hour later that she roused sharply at some sound that pierced her dreams. As she came to herself another scream brought her to her feet.

"d.i.c.ky!" she gasped. "Where?"

She ran toward the landing, but there was no sign of him. The sound had seemed nearer to her tree she thought as she dashed back to her napping spot, but she had been so sleepy that she could not tell whether it came from the bushes behind her or from the beach.

The beach? The water? Was d.i.c.ky in the water? She flew to the water's edge and strained out over the tiny waves that lapped gently in from a steamer that had gone down the lake five minutes before.

There it was again--that scream. And there was d.i.c.ky's yellow head bobbing up for an instant and there was his hand thrown into the air.

In a second Ethel had slipped off her skirt and her shoes and was running into the water in her bloomers. It could not be very deep where d.i.c.ky was, just beyond the tip of the point. The sedge gra.s.s must have thrown him down when he started to wade. How it happened flashed into Ethel's mind as clearly as if she had seen it and all the time she was wading out as fast as she could go. Even now it was only a trifle above her knees; if d.i.c.ky could only get his footing he would be all right--and as she thought it, her own feet slipped from under her and she fell down a steep under-water bank sloping sharply away from the point.

This was the reason then. But though startled she was cool and fell at once into an easy swimming stroke. Her middy blouse hampered her but not seriously. It needed only a few strokes to reach the eddy made by d.i.c.ky's struggle. She could see him clearly and she seized him by the back of his rompers. He made no resistance, poor little man. All the struggle had gone out of him when she lifted him to the surface.

The point was nearer than the beach and a few strokes brought her to it with her limp burden. The child was a slender little chap but he was a heavy armful for a girl of thirteen and Ethel tugged herself out of breath before she brought him high up on dry land.

"What was the first thing Roger said?" she asked herself, and instantly remembered that she must turn d.i.c.ky on to his face to let the water run out of his throat. She bent his limp arm under his forehead and then left him for a second while she ran for her skirt to roll up under his chest. As she ran she tried to scream, but only a faint squeak came from her lips.

As she flew back she rolled the skirt into a bundle. The child still showed no signs of breathing and she copied Roger's next move on that long ago day when she had been his subject. Thrusting the roll under d.i.c.ky's chest to raise his body from the ground and then kneeling beside him she pulled him on to his side and then let him fall forward again on to his face, counting "one, two, three, four," slowly for each motion.

Her arms ached cruelly as she tugged and tugged again at d.i.c.ky's little rolling body. Wouldn't anybody ever come? Over and over she tried to scream, but she had only breath enough to keep on pulling. She was counting "One, two, three, four," silently now.

At last, at last, came a flicker of d.i.c.ky's eyelid and a whimper from his mouth. Ethel worked on harder and harder. d.i.c.ky grew heavier and heavier, but she saw dimly through her own half-shut eyes that he was opening his and that his face was puckering for one of the yells that only d.i.c.ky Morton could give.

"You let me alone, Ethel Blue," he whispered savagely, and then she lost sight of the water and the sedge gra.s.s and her weary arms fell at her sides.

When she opened her eyes again she found a heavy coat thrown around her and a face that she had not seen for a very long time, smiling down into hers--a face that she never forgot, the face that flashed before her every night when she said her prayers.

"My little girl!" Captain Morton was saying soothingly as he rocked her in his arms; "my brave little girl!"

His _brave_ little girl!

"d.i.c.ky?" Ethel murmured, looking up at her father.

"He's all right, dear. Aunt Marion has taken him to the fire."

Then Ethel leaned her face against her father's shoulder and lay without stirring, utterly content.

CHAPTER XX

FOLLOWING A CLUE

WHEN Jo Sampson came running with a gla.s.s of hot milk and her Aunt Marion's instructions that Ethel Blue was to drink it at once, he said that he was preparing the launch for an immediate return across the lake. It was after they were packed into the boat and Ethel Brown had squeezed the water out of Ethel Blue's bloomers, that she shrugged herself comfortably into her father's coat and propped herself against his shoulder and asked if anybody knew how it happened.

n.o.body did, it seemed. d.i.c.ky had gone to walk with Helen and Mary and when they came back and began to busy themselves about the luncheon he had slipped away. It was not until Captain Morton, who had reached Chautauqua a day earlier than he expected, and had followed them across in another launch, suddenly arrived and asked for Ethel Blue that they noticed that both Ethel Blue and d.i.c.ky were missing. The first point of search was the neighborhood of the rowboat where Ethel Brown had left her, and they must have come upon her only an instant after she had collapsed, for d.i.c.ky complained tearfully that "The hurted me and then the tumbled down."

Ethel Blue was the heroine of the day and not even her father was prouder of her than Ethel Brown, who patted her and praised her without stint.

So great was the disturbance created at home by d.i.c.ky's experience which necessitated the calling of a doctor to make sure that he and Ethel Blue were getting on safely, and so frequent were the runnings up and down stairs with hot water and hot cloths and hot drinks and dry clothes that it was nightfall before Mrs. Morton had a chance to ask her brother-in-law how it happened that he had a furlough just at that time.

Ethel Blue had begged not to be sent to bed and she was lying in the hammock, wrapped in a blanket and holding her father's hand as if she were trying to keep him always beside her. The rest of the family had gone to bed or to the Amphitheatre.

"Is my namesake asleep?" inquired Captain Morton. "Then sit down and let me tell you why I am here. I asked for leave because something had happened that made me think that we might perhaps be able to find Sister Louise again."

"Oh, Richard! After all these years! Have you really a clue?"

"It seems to me a very good one. I was doing some inspection work at the time General Funston cleaned up Vera Cruz. It necessitated my going into a great many of the Mexican houses. In one of them--a rather small house in a shabby street--I saw on the wall looking down on me a picture of my sister."

"Of Louise! How could it have come there?"

"I was amazed. I stared at the thing with my mouth open. But I could not be mistaken; it was a photograph of her that I was familiar with, taken before she was married."

"Could you make the proprietor of the house understand that you knew her?"

"Oh, yes; I've picked up enough Spanish to get on pretty well now. The man said that the original of the picture, Dona Louisa, had boarded with them several years ago. It took a lot of calculation to remember how long ago, but he finally concluded that it was the year before his third son broke his leg, and that was in 1907, as far as I could make out."

"Eight years ago that she was there. How extraordinary! What became of her?"

"The story is a tragedy. Louise's husband--Don Leonardo, the Mexican called him--was a musician, as you know. That was the chief reason for Father's disliking him. It seems that he had wandered to Vera Cruz with the orchestra of a theatrical company that stranded there. He was in sore straits pretty often. 'The little girl used to cry from hunger,' my man said."

"Poor little thing!"