Somebody rushed forward to seize the daring child by the collar of his jacket, but too late; he had fallen headlong into the lake! A scream went up from the deck that pierced the air,--"Boy overboard! Help! help! help!" Mrs. Clifford heard, and knew, by instinct, that it was Horace. She had just sent Grace to call him, not feeling safe to trust him longer with Mr. Lazelle. She rushed through the door of the state-room, and followed the crowd to the other side of the boat, crying,-- "O, can't somebody save him!" There was no mistaking the mother's voice; the crowd made way for her. "Safe! safe and sound!" was the shout now. "All right!" The Irish lad, at Horace's first plunge, had thrown him his bucket--it was a life-preserver; that is, it would not sink--and the drowning boy had been drawn up by means of a rope attached to the bail. "Ma," said Grace, when they were all safely in the cars at Buffalo, and Horace as well as ever, though a little pale, "I do believe there never was anybody had such an awful journey! _Do_ you suppose we'll ever get Horace home to grandma's?" CHAPTER IV. AT GRANDPA PARLIN'S. It was over at last--the long, tedious journey, which Horace spoiled for everybody, and which nobody but Horace enjoyed. When they drove up to the quiet old homestead at Willowbrook, and somebody had taken the little baby, poor Mrs. Clifford threw herself into her mother's arms, and sobbed like a child. Everybody else cried, too; and good, deaf grandpa Parlin, with smiles and tears at the same time, declared,-- "I don't know what the matter is; so I can't tell whether to laugh or cry." Then his daughter Margaret went up and said in his best ear that they were just crying for joy, and asked him if that wasn't a silly thing to do. Grace embraced everybody twice over; but Horace was a little shy, and would only give what his aunties called "canary kisses." "Margaret, I want you to give me that darling baby this minute," said Mrs. Parlin, wiping her eyes. "Now you can bring the butter out of the cellar: it's all there is to be done, except to set the tea on the table." Then grandma Parlin had another cry over little Katie: not such a strange thing, for she could not help thinking of Harry, the baby with sad eyes and pale face, who had been sick there all the summer before, and was now an angel. As little Prudy had said, "God took him up to heaven, but the tired part of him is in the garden." Yes, under a weeping-willow. Everybody was thinking just now of tired little Harry, "the sweetest flower that ever was planted in that garden." "Why, Maria," said Mrs. Clifford, as soon as she could speak, "how did you ever travel so far with this little, little baby?" "I don't know, mother," replied Mrs. Clifford; "I think I could never have got here without Grace: she has been my little waiter, and Katie's little nurse." Grace blushed with delight at this well-deserved praise.