joyous bark, and then, as though conscious that he had done wrong, he
changed it to a whine. Mr. Hamilton, with wildly beating heart, heard
his son murmur:

"Oh, it's cold, so cold! Where am I? Is the fire out? Did I run down any
boats?"

Then came the calm voices of the doctors, urging their patient to be
quiet.

But this was more than Grit could do. His whining was like the cry of a
child, and he scratched frantically at the door.

"That's Grit. Let him in," Dick said, in stronger tones, and Mr.
Hamilton uttered a silent prayer of thanksgiving. The portal was swung
and Grit bounded into the room, followed by the millionaire. One of
Dick's hands hung over the side of the bed, and Grit began licking it
frantically.

"Good--old Grit," murmured Dick, and Grit was content.

"How is he?" asked Mr. Hamilton, in a whisper.

"I'm all right, dad," answered Dick, unexpectedly.

"Not as bad as we feared," answered one of the physicians. "He has
inhaled no flames, but he struck his head on something as he jumped.
Probably on a bit of floating wreckage. He will be all right after a few
days' rest. But he must be kept quiet. No excitement. I congratulate you
on your brave son, Mr. Hamilton."

The millionaire silently wrung the hand the physician held out to him.

"It wasn't anything," murmured Dick, in sleepy tones. "I had to stop the
boat, and the only way I saw was to put a hole in the bottom. Too bad;
it was a fine boat."

"You can have another, if we can't raise her," interrupted Mr. Hamilton.

"Then I knew I'd have to swim under water to avoid the flames," went on
Dick. "I held my breath as long as I could, and then I hit something. I
can't remember any more."

He sank into a doze, with Grit still licking the drooping hand.

"I think he will sleep now," said the physician who had examined Dick at
the lake. "We will go out, and the dog had better come, too."

"Come, Grit," called Mr. Hamilton, but Grit paid no attention.

"I'll bring him," said the physician, as he reached for the bulldog's
collar. Grit growled menacingly.

"Better not," advised the millionaire. "No one but Dick can do anything
with him."

So they had to leave Grit there, but he was not in the least in the way,
being content to rest beneath the bed, though whenever anyone--nurse or
doctor--approached, the dog was ever on the watch.

Dick had to stay in bed three days, and for three days more was a sort
of semi-invalid in an easy-chair. T