Dear's Water-wheel Adventure.
THE saw-mill and turning-shop where Harvey Gates passed his days was a charmed spot to his little daughter Dear. She loved to run down the hill and spring in at the open door to call her father to his dinner. She loved to see the glittering saw singing its way through the hard wood, and to watch her father as he stood at the turning lathe with a paper cap perched on his head, and see the chip-like shavings fly from his chisel and settle over and around him, till he looked not like a snow man, but like a chip man; his brown eyes looking steadily out under the fringe of shavings hiding his eyebrows. But best of all she loved to stand at the open window over the great water-wheel, and watch it going slowly and heavily round and round. The pond and milldam lay just above the shop, and the water came down in a high wooden trough, and then poured into the buckets set thick around the outside of the wheel; constantly coming up to be filled, and constantly going down to pour out thanklessly the water they had so bountifully received; ever coming and going ceaselessly round and round. When the pond was full, more than enough water to fill the buckets came down the trough, pouring in a bright cascade over the wheel, sending showers of spray in all directions. It was a great delight to toss handfuls of turning shavings over this cascade, and see them glide down and float away like fleets of ships on a turbulent stream. But in June and July the fussy brook that fed the pond grew shy and capricious, giving barely sufficient water to turn the wheel a few hours each morning; and when August came it hid away in still, dark pools overhung with alders and interlacing grapevines, leaving long stretches of its stony bed white and bare in the blazing sunshine. Then the great wheel stood still for days and weeks together. Then, if the children were very good, Dear was permitted to take Roundtop and Squaretop and Tiptop, and play keep house in the water-wheel. This would seem to be a queer place to keep house in, but its very charm consisted in its being a queer place. At such times the wheel was clean and dry. With a little assistance from Dear, Roundtop and Squaretop could clamber in, Tiptop could be lifted in, and as there was then no water under the wheel, if they tumbled out the tumble was of little consequence; indeed, it helped to diversify proceedings and to keep up a constant refrain of warnings on Dear's part. The stout, square arms of wood that stretched hither and thither across the interior of the wheel, were planted around the rims, leaving a clear space tightly boarded through the middle. Here Dear set her table and brought in bits of plank for seats, and fastened Tiptop so that he couldn't get away; and as the wheel was firmly poised, all the running and jumping and climbing failed to make it budge an inch. Roundtop and Squaretop climbed along the horizontal arms, and with bent pins fastened to strings, fished in the dry bed of the stream—and such trout and roach and shiners as they caught! One or the other were continually getting "bites," and taking off imaginary fish and putting them in imaginary baskets. Then Dear cooked them over an imaginary fire, and served them on imaginary plates. But oh dear! how hungry they were when their imaginary dinners were through! They usually ended by a stampede up to the house for thick slices of rye bread and butter that were anything but imaginary, and were eaten with great gusto out under the apple-trees. Directly after Dear's talk with her father, when she told him how she had tried to see God, he made this stipulation with her mother, that since it was necessary that Dear should have the care of the younger children, she should have one hour each day that should be absolutely free of care and responsibility. That hour should be her own, to spend in her own way, without question or comment; and he made it his business to see that the stipulation was carried into effect, till it became a habit with which no one of the household thought of interfering. Outside of that hour she was to do whatever was required of her cheerfully and promptly. No one could tell what a relief this arrangement was to Dear. The one hour became the golden hour of the twenty-four. Sometimes she spent it wandering up and down the brook that bounded the Gates' farm, northeasterly, till she knew every bend and turn, every clump of alders and shining pool, making friends with all the fishes therein. Sometimes she spent it in the belt of woods on the opposite side of the brook, learning, half unconsciously, wonderful wood-lore. But as she grew older, the hour was oftenest spent hidden in some solitary nook, book in hand, lost to all things else, till a sudden blast from the tin horn her father kept at the shop warned her that the hour had come to its end. Not unfrequently during the long, hot summer days the hour was passed in the water-wheel, lying where the curve of the wheel sloped upward, with one hand under her cheek, cool and quiet, and reading uninterruptedly on and on. She fell into this habit early one summer, while yet the pond yielded enough water to turn the wheel a few hours in the morning. While that was possible, there was always a leakage from the pond. The gate which shut down over the entrance of the trough being under water, and not strictly water-tight, a small portion would trickle through and run down to the wheel, slowly filling two or three of the topmost buckets, and when they were quite full the wheel suddenly turned half-way round, spilling the water out, and swaying slowly to and fro for a moment, the huge wheel regained its former poise, and stood waiting till more buckets filled, when the same operation was repeated again and again. Dear always knew by the tremulous vibratory motion when the wheel was losing its balance, and was ready to slide with it when the rush came. She liked that; it was better than sliding down hill, for there was no sled to drag up. She called the wheel her coach, and the buckets her horses; but she very well knew that her position would be a dangerous one if by any accident sufficient water should get into the trough to turn the wheel continuously. Escape between the revolving arms would be almost impossible, and she would soon become dizzy and exhausted in continually sliding with the turning wheel. For this reason she was careful to know that the wheel had stopped running for the day, before venturing within. But with all her caution she was one day caught. There had been a sharp shower the previous afternoon, and the pond had more than its usual supply for a July day, and after running till noon there was still sufficient water remaining to turn the wheel. The gate, however, was closed; and after dinner, Dear saw her father drive off with a wagon-load of bobbins for one of the cotton mills farther down the valley. Dear's mother was very busy, and Tiny, the new baby, was fretful, and Dear agreed to take her hour later in the day than usual. It was past four o'clock when Dear, book in hand, stole down to the silent mill. How cool and still it was there! How pleasant it was to hear the drip, drip, of the water into the buckets, which slowly filled, and at long intervals suddenly turned the wheel half around! It was pleasant to hear the trickling of the stream as it hastily scud away from under the wheel, but pleasanter still to lift her eyes from the page, and see the noiseless nestle of the birds hidden in the cool, green alders at the opposite side of the brook. But presently she grew absorbed in her book, and lost all consciousness of sight and sound, feeling, without thinking, the tremor of the wheel, and making ready for the rush as the buckets filled and went down from time to time. Meanwhile the hour drew to its close. Harvey Gates had returned, and was stepping around in the mill overhead. Dear did not hear him, even when he began to whistle, thinking, "There's water enough to saw this lumber to-night, and that will help out to-morrow," and away he went to the pond and lifted the gate. Dear felt the quivering of the wheel, and was ready for the turn half-way round, and the usual sagging to and fro; but somehow, when the wheel got half-way round, it forgot to stop, it kept on going quite round. That aroused Dear, and she started up to hear the rushing of the water as it came down the trough. The gate was raised, and the wheel was going swifter and swifter. She heard the sullen grind, grind of the cog-wheels that carried the driving-belt, and, a moment later, the sharp singing of the saw, as it struck the plank in her father's hands. She knew instantly what had happened; she knew she could not get out alive between the rapidly revolving arms of the wheel. She knew, too, that, shout ever so loud, she could not make her father hear. She thought of her mother and of the children up at the house; and then, growing faint and dizzy, she clutched with a desperate grasp one of the arms of the wheel as it struck her hands, and instantly felt herself borne up and up as the wheel swept over, and then remembered no more. Harvey Gates, whistling at his work, shoved aside the sticks of bobbin timber as they were eaten through by the saw, when suddenly, above his whistling and the singing of the saw, he heard shouted in his ear, "Shut the gate!" He started and looked over his shoulder, spoiling a strip of wood that went into the saw awry. There was no one to be seen, there was no one in the shop, and stooping, he picked up another plank for the saw, when he heard again "SHUT THE GATE!" The voice was strangely urgent and imperative. "Something is wrong," said he, as he sprang out of the shop, and running up to the pond, shut the gate. "What's the matter? what's wanting?" demanded he when he reached the mill again. There was no answer. He looked indoors and out. There was no one in sight. He made a thorough search of the premises with the same unsatisfactory result. There was no one in the mill but himself. He went back to his saw, perplexed and chagrined, for of late he was growing slightly deaf; there was a ringing in his ears, and he sometimes thought he heard voices when he was quite alone, and he grew impatient at the delusion. Never before had he been imposed upon to the extent of shutting his gate and stopping his work. Vexed with himself he turned to go up and raise the gate again, but as he turned, he looked out of the open window over the water-wheel. "The shower must have been severe north of us yesterday," said he, thinking of the increased water-flow which showed itself in the brook below the mill. Suddenly his eye caught something floating down the stream. Was it an open book? And what was that caught under the alders—a blue gingham sunbonnet? For an instant the man's heart stood still, and his breath came with a gasp; but the next moment he was around to the water-wheel, now quite motionless. Yes, there it was, just what he feared to see, a limp mass tumbled on the floor of the wheel. It took some time to unclasp the small arms clinging so desperately to one of the arms of the wheel; but at last it was done, and he carried Dear up and laid her on a pile of shavings in the shop, while hot tears rained over the still white face. "How can I take her to her mother?" he said; and then, as if the tears on her face or the sound of his voice aroused her, Dear moved, and slowly opened her eyes. "I'm all right, papa," she said, meeting his anxious face; and presently she added thoughtfully, and as if speaking to herself, "He heard me, I knew he would." "Who heard you?" asked her father, raising her in his arms to make sure that no bones were broken. "Jesus," said the child softly. "You see, papa, I knew I couldn't get out, and I knew I couldn't203make you hear, and I thought I had got to die there; and then I remembered Jesus could hear, and when I caught the arm of the wheel I cried out, 'Lord Jesus, tell my papa quick!' And he told you—didn't he, papa?" Harvey Gates could not speak. Dear looked wonderingly in his startled, illumined face. After a moment, seeing that she waited for an answer, he said with unsteady lips: "Yes, dear, I think he did."—Sunday School Times.