Brownsmiths Boy - A Romance in a Garden
Page 27Just then I heard some one sobbing and crying, and I felt as if I must
be asleep and dreaming all this.
"Don't make that row. He's all right, I tell you. He isn't drowned.
What's the good of making a row like that!"
It was George Day's voice, and opening my eyes I said hoarsely: "What's the matter? Is he hurt?"
"No: it's only Harry Leggatt thought you were--you were hurt, you know.
Can you get up, and run? All our clothes are two fields off. Come on.
The sun will dry you."
I got up, feeling giddy and strange, and the aching at the back of my
head was almost unbearable; but I began to walk with Day holding my
hand, and after a time--he guiding me, for I felt very stupid--I began
myself standing by my clothes, and my companions helped me to dress.
"You went out too far," Day said. "I told you not, you know."
I was shivering with cold and terribly uncomfortable with putting on my
things over my wet chilled body. It had been a hard task too,
especially with my socks, but I hardly spoke till we were walking home,
and when I did it was during the time I was smoothing my wet hair with a
pocket comb lent me by one of the boys.
"How was it I went too far?" I said at last, dolefully.
"I don't know," said Day. "I shouldn't have known anything if that chap
Shock hadn't come shouting to us; and when we came, thinking he was
dragged you out on to the bank. It was him we saw swimming when we
first went in."
"Where is he now?" I said wearily. "Let's ask him all about it."
"I don't know," replied Day. "He ran off to dress himself, I suppose,
and he didn't come back. But I say, you're better now."
"Oh yes!" I said, "I'm better now;" and by degrees the walk in the warm
afternoon sunshine seemed to make me feel more myself; beside which I
was dry when I got back home, but very low-spirited and dull.
I did not say anything, for my mother was lying down, and Mrs Beeton
never invited my confidence; beside which I felt rather
window, feeling warmer, and less disposed to shiver.
And as I sat there about seven o'clock on that warm summer evening it
almost seemed as if my afternoon's experience had been a dream, and that
Shock had not swum out and saved me from drowning, for there he was
under one of the pear-trees, with a switch and a piece of clay, throwing
pellets at our house, one of which came right in at the open window
close by my cheek, and struck against Mrs Beeton's cheffonier door.