Another pint of beer confirmed him in his resolution. He would go far
away and make a fresh start in the world. The morning was bright and the
air fresh, and a pleasant sense of freedom and adventure possessed his
soul as he walked. At a swinging pace he soon left Gravelton behind him,
and, coming to the river, sat down to smoke a final pipe before turning
his back forever on a town which had treated him so badly.
The river murmured agreeably and the rushes stirred softly in the breeze;
Mr. Blows, who could fall asleep on an upturned pail, succumbed to the
influence at once; the pipe dropped from his mouth and he snored
peacefully.
He was awakened by a choking scream, and, starting up hastily, looked
about for the cause. Then in the water he saw the little white face of
Billy Clements, and wading in up to his middle he reached out and,
catching the child by the hair, drew him to the bank and set him on his
feet. Still screaming with terror, Billy threw up some of the water he
had swallowed, and without turning his head made off in the direction of
home, calling piteously upon his mother.
Mr. Blows, shivering on the bank, watched him out of sight, and, missing
his cap, was just in time to see that friend of several seasons slowly
sinking in the middle of the river.
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