"It is here," gasped Betty; "I fetched it on my way down the slope; oh,
sir, do you think she lives?"
For answer the young man produced from an inner pocket of his shabby
garment a small flask, which he uncorked and held toward her.
"It is cognac," he said; "put a drop or two between her lips while I
chafe her hands--so; see, she revives," as the white lids quivered for a
second, and then the pretty blue eyes opened.
"Moppet, Moppet, my darling," cried her sister, "are you hurt? Did you
strike anything in your fall?"
"Why, Betty!" ejaculated the child, "why are you giving me nasty stuff;
here are the tansy leaves," and she held up her left hand, where tightly
clenched she had kept the herbs, whose gathering on the edge of the
treacherous bank had been her undoing.
"You are a brave little maid," said the stranger, as he put the flask to
his own lips. "The shock will be all you have to guard against, and even
that is passing;" for Miss Moppet had staggered upon her feet and was
looking with astonished eyes at her dripping clothing.
"Did I fall, Betty?" she said. "Why my gown is sopping wet,--oh! have I
been at the bottom of the pond?"
"You had stopped there, sweetheart, but for this good gentleman," said
Betty, holding out a small, trembling hand to the stranger, a lovely
smile dimpling her cheeks as she spoke.
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