have leapt into the
river, but Sedgefield, one of the "savages" who had jumped upon the
raft, was just in time to clutch him by the arm and hold him back.

"Look, Moncrief! That's Percival, isn't it?"

Harry stood, trembling in every limb, on the edge of the raft, and
followed the direction of Sedgefield's finger. Yes, Percival it was. Cut
off from the games of his companions, left entirely to himself, he had
brought out his rod and line to pass an hour or so angling. While thus
occupied, he had heard the shouts and cries raised by the "savages" on
the opposite bank.

"What's wrong?" he asked himself, as he stood quite still and listened.

The shouting grew louder; the yells more unearthly, and in a tongue, as
it seemed to him, he had never heard before.

Dropping his rod, he raced along the bank, just in time to to see from a
distance the raft push off with the boys upon it, and the disaster that
followed, as it floated further into the stream. He paused for an
instant as he breathlessly watched the scene; then raced forward at full
speed, flung off his jacket, waistcoat, and boots, and struck out, hand
over hand, to where Hibbert was struggling in the water.

Fortunately, Paul was a powerful swimmer. Even in his cradle his father
had taken his little hand in his large one, and, while looking lovingly
in his face, had said to the wife who sat beside him:

"The son of a sea-dog, the son of a sea-dog! He must never know the fear
of water."

Alas! it was the cruel water which had carried off the father, but the
son had grown up true to his wish--he had never known the fear of water.
So he had become a bold and powerful swimmer. With a swift, sweeping
side-stroke he reached Hibbert's side, just as he was sinking for the
last time. Clutching the drowning boy by the hair, he held him up; then,
turning on his back, he drew him to his chest, and, kicking out with his
feet, soon reached the bank.

Placing the boy gently on the turf, Paul gazed anxiously into his face.
The eyes were closed; the lips ghastly blue; the heart seemed still.

"Hibbert, Hibbert!" cried Paul, as he tried to restore animation.

No answer came to his pleading cry. The eyes still remained closed. A
big fear took possession of Paul. Had the eyes closed never to open
more? Had help come when it was too late? Was the little chap dead?
Notwithstanding the fear that seized him, he did not relax his efforts,
and presently, to his great joy, the lid