, you're quickest."

They had all started forward at speed, but Dick and Crusoe were far
ahead, and abreast of the spot in a few seconds.

"Save it, pup," cried Dick, pointing to the child, which had been caught
in an eddy, and was for a few moments hovering on the edge of the stream
that rushed impetuously towards the fall.

The noble Newfoundland did not require to be told what to do. It seems
a natural instinct in this sagacious species of dog to save man or beast
that chances to be struggling in the water, and many are the authentic
stories related of Newfoundland dogs saving life in cases of shipwreck.
Indeed, they are regularly trained to the work in some countries, and
nobly, fearlessly, disinterestedly, do they discharge their trust, often
in the midst of appalling dangers. Crusoe sprang from the bank with
such impetus that his broad chest ploughed up the water like the bow of
a boat, and the energetic workings of his muscles were indicated by the
force of each successive propulsion as he shot ahead.

In a few seconds he reached the child and caught it by the hair. Then
he turned to swim back, but the stream had got hold of him. Bravely he
struggled, and lifted the child breast-high out of the water in his
powerful efforts to stem the current. In vain. Each moment he was
carried inch by inch down until he was on the brink of the fall, which,
though not high, was a large body of water and fell with a heavy roar.
He raised himself high out of the stream with the vigour of his last
struggle, and then fell back into the abyss.

By this time the poor mother was in a canoe as close to the fall as she
could with safety approach, and the little bark danced like a
cockle-shell on the turmoil of waters as she stood with uplifted paddle
and staring eyeballs awaiting the rising of the child.

Crusoe came up almost instantly, but _alone_, for the dash over the fall
had wrenched the child from his teeth. He raised himself high up and
looked anxiously round for a moment. Then he caught sight of a little
hand raised above the boiling flood. In one moment he had the child
again by the hair, and, just as the prow of the Indian woman's canoe
touched the shore, he brought the child to land.

Springing towards him, the mother snatched her child from the flood and
gazed at its death-like face with eyeballs starting from their sockets;
then she laid her cheek on its cold breast and stood like a statue of
despair. Ther