“Never saw such folks for jelly; they eat it by the quart. Wish I could be sick once in a while, and get some myself,” muttered Preston, as he settled his school-book under his arm, and took the cup his mother had brought to the door.

It was Jimmy Proudfit who was sick now, and Mrs. Gray was in the habit of sending him little dainties by Preston, who often grumbled about it, and said he was “tired of the whole Proudfit family.” Mrs. Gray never took any notice of these unfeeling remarks, knowing they meant nothing, for Preston was an extremely kind-hearted boy. He had a few faults, of course, and one of them was a strong dislike for doing errands. He was on his way now to recite a Latin lesson to his kind teacher, Mr. Garland; and, as usual, the twin cousins were close at his heels, skipping and dancing, for they never could walk when they felt truly gay.

“Where are you going?” asked Preston, looking back through his spectacles.

“Going up on the bank to play ‘Uncle Tom.’ Blanche Jones and Fanny Townsend and everybody else is going, and ’twill be just splendid,” replied Flaxie, as Preston walked up to Mrs. Proudfit’s door to deliver the jelly.

There were four children playing in the sand this time, and one of them was Patty. The twin cousins thought they would go by them without turning their heads, but Patty called out, “Where are you running to in such a hurry?”

“Oh, we’re going up to play on the bank there somewhere,” replied Flaxie, trying to shake off the baby, who had been eating candy and was pulling at her frock with his sticky fingers.

“Up on the bank? Well, I’m agoin’ too,” said that black-eyed, disagreeable Patty.

And without waiting to see whether she was wanted or not, she followed along with her two dirty sisters; and behind them toddled the baby!

Preston marched on in front, looking very much amused; but Flaxie’s face was quite red. She pinched Milly’s arm, and then Milly pinched hers. It was a strange way to go to a party—the party of the season; and Flaxie had a great mind to run home; only her mother had charged her again and again not to be rude; so she said in a very calm, polite manner:

“Patty, don’t you think ’twould be a good plan for you to go in the house and see Jimmy? He’s sick.”

Patty only laughed, and the four children scuffled along just the same behind Flaxie and Milly, making the dirt fly with their bare toes.

Oh, it was all very well for Preston to whistle! It didn’t trouble him, of course, for he wasn’t going to the party! He stopped in a few minutes at Mr. Garland’s beautiful brown house with the green vines around it, and made a low bow as he said “Good-bye.”

Flaxie scowled. What would Fanny Townsend and Blanche Jones and all the other nice girls say to see her bringing along such a train of dirty gypsies? She and Milly kept close together, never turning their heads till they came to the place “on the bank up there somewhere,” where they were to have the party.

Fanny and Blanche, and nearly everybody else, had arrived already, in clean frocks, with faces just washed; and, dear! dear! who wanted those Proudfits? But the little girls in Laurel Grove were for the most part very well-bred, so they said, “How do you do, Patty?” and “How do you do, Gretty?” and “How do you do, Baby?” just as if they had expected the whole family; though it was really a picnic party, and nobody had a right to come to it without an invitation. Patty kept close beside Flaxie; but Bubby, the fourteen months’ old baby, made himself generally disagreeable by wiping the candy and sand off his hands upon the little girls’ skirts.

“Let’s play something,” said Flaxie nervously.

It was a beautiful place to play. There were trees for hide-and-seek, flat spots for croquet, and little hills and hollows for everything else. The village children used this for a sort of park, and the river seemed to look on and laugh to see them so gay. It was a very sober, steady river above and below, but right here it went leaping and tumbling over some rocks, making a merry cascade,—just for fun, you would think. The children liked to skip stones and see them spin up and down in the foam; but they had been warned not to go too near the bank. Nobody had ever fallen in yet, but it wasn’t a safe place for very little folks, certainly not for roly-poly babies like Bubby Proudfit. He was very clumsy, falling down, rolling over, and picking himself up again every five minutes. Patty meant to watch him, but he was not very interesting, and the little girls quite bewitched her with their kind smiles and pretty ways.

Flaxie Frizzle was one of the youngest, but led off in most of the games. She was little Eva, and died on a bed of grass “elegantly,” while everybody else groaned and howled, especially poor Uncle Tom. Uncle Tom was Milly, in a black mask of Preston’s, which had been played with till it was cracked in fifty places, and made Uncle Tom look about two hundred years old.

Then they had the “Old Woman in the Shoe,” and Flaxie was a fierce and cruel mother, whipping her children so “soundly” that you could hear them scream half a mile off.

Patty thought all this was beautiful, and a longing look came into her bold black eyes, as she gazed at the old woman.

“Oh, if I could wear red stockings, with flowers on them, like Flaxie! If I could be a doctor’s little girl, and live in a house with blinds and trees and flowers, and have a cousin come to see me!”

It wasn’t strange that Patty should feel like this, and want to cover up her bare feet in the grass; but in admiring Flaxie she forgot entirely to watch Bubby, and that was a great mistake. He didn’t care, he never liked to be watched; it was fine fun to see the whole world before him and go just where he chose. Didn’t the trees and grass and flowers all belong to him! To be sure they did, and he meant to carry some of them home. But while he was trudging about, and making up his little mind where he would begin to pull, he espied the river sparkling in the sun, and that was finest of all. “Pitty, pitty!” cried he, and thought he would carry the river home too. How nice it would be to splash in! He fairly shouted at the idea, for having never seen a bath-tub, he hadn’t learned to be afraid of soap and water. “Pitty, pitty!” said he, toddling down with outstretched hands toward the dashing, dancing, merry, white cascade; while the children, running away from the terrible old woman, and trying to see which could scream loudest, never saw or heard him at all.

Ah, baby, foolish baby, do you think you can seize that bright river and carry it home? No, it is the bright river that is going to seize you, unless somebody stops your little feet before they get to the brink!

About this time Preston Gray had finished reciting his lesson. It was not a very good one, though his teacher found no fault whatever; and now instead of going home, Preston strolled along toward the “Children’s Park,” thinking how strange it was that little girls should scream so much louder than boys at their games.

“Flaxie is a gay one,” said he, as he saw her chasing her children with a white birch switch; but at that moment he saw something else that made his heart stand still. The Proudfit baby was scrambling down the bank, just above the falls!

Preston called out, but it was of no use; there was not a man to be seen, and if there had been twenty men they could have heard nothing, while the little girls were making such a noise. He ran with all his might, but by the time he reached the bank, the baby had tumbled headlong into the river!

What was to be done? Preston was only a little boy himself, let me tell you, and though he had learned to swim, the current was strong right here, and there was great danger of his being carried over the falls.

What would you have done, my little reader? Perhaps you would have stopped to think a good many times, saying to yourself:

“Oh, I don’t dare, I don’t dare!”

And then, ah, then, it might have been too late!

Preston was called a slow boy, but he didn’t stop to think once; he did his thinking while he was pulling off his shoes.

“I must do it!” that was all he thought. And then he dashed in.

Bubby was in deep water already, and his struggles were carrying him down stream. Preston seized him by his calico frock, and tried to drag him toward the bank; but that dreadful baby had always had a habit of nipping at everything like a snapping-turtle, and now he caught Preston’s throat between his thumb and forefinger, half strangling him. And, oh, the current was so swift!

For a moment it was life or death with both of them; but Preston managed to unclasp the tiny hand, hold it down, and land the poor little fellow safe at last.

“God helped me—I knew he would!” thought brave Preston Gray, as he drew his first long breath on the bank.

Of course all the little girls had gathered around him, screaming in chorus, and it was a noisy procession that followed the weeping Patty down the street, with the dripping baby in her arms.

“’Twas my brother that saved him, ’twas my brother Preston!” cried Flaxie to everybody they met. “He jumped into the river and pulled out the baby!”

That wasn’t the end of it. There was another procession in the evening, and this one stopped at Dr. Gray’s gate. It was the Brass Band, out in uniform; but Preston hadn’t the least idea what for, till the men paused at the end of a tune, swung their caps, and gave “Three cheers for Master Preston Gray!”

Even then he didn’t understand. He hid behind his father and thought he should like to know what his mother was crying about.

“Hurrah!” said the leader again, Major Patten, swinging his tall fur cap, which was the pride of the whole company; “hurrah for the boy that risked his life to save a drowning baby!”

“Oh, is that it? Anybody’d have done that!” thought little Preston, hiding again. He was a modest boy; but his sister Flaxie, you know, was quite too bold.

“Why don’t he come out?” whispered she, pulling at his sleeve.

“Hush, let him alone,” said Dr. Gray, with tears in his eyes.

And then he raised the noble boy in his arms, so the men could see him, for that was what they wanted. But still Preston hid his face. His heart was full, and he couldn’t look up when those people were praising him so.

By this time there were lamps lighted in every window of Dr. Gray’s house, and even in the trees; and though the moon was shining her best, Major Patten, with the wonderful fur cap, asked Preston to stand beside him and hold a lamp, that he might see to read his music.

Preston stood there with the light shining on his pure, good face; and then the men played, “See the Conquering Hero comes,” the “Marsellaise,” and a dozen other tunes, while their uniforms made such a dazzle of red and gold that Flaxie could not help dancing about like a wild thing for joy.

It was not so with thoughtful Milly. She snuggled down on the piazza beside Julia, and looked on quietly.

“I’m glad Preston was so good,” thought she; “perhaps he wouldn’t have been so very good if he hadn’t had those blind eyes and spectacles. How God must love him! Papa says Julia is like a little candle, and I’m sure Preston is like a candle too. Why, where is Flaxie going now?”

Flaxie was flying down the hill after Henry, the stable-boy. She had heard her papa tell him to go to Mr. Springer’s for some ice-cream, and she wanted to say: “Get it pink, Henry; get the pinkest ice-cream you can find!”

Then when the men were seated all about the yard and on the piazza, eating their pink ice-cream, somebody threw up a rocket; and that was the end of the gayest, brightest evening our little friend Flaxie Frizzle had ever known in her life.