THE RESCUE OF CLARISSA.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume VIII, Issue 43, 24 October 1891, Page 523

THE RESCUE OF CLARISSA.

(BY 1

WILL PHILIP HOOPER.)

CLEAN, safe, shining beach where each wave, as it rolled in, seemed to try to outdo the other waves in gently smoothing the \ bright sand. A big, good-natured Newfoundland dog, with a wooden pail in his mouth, and trotby his side a sweet little girl. ‘ My gracious me, Rover,’ said Amy—his name was only Rover, but she always called ’F'' »x> him ‘ My gracious me, Rover ’ —• it’s lucky we didn’t bring Amanda; the wind would snarl her curls, and if she got sand in her shoes it would make her cross.’ The beach was in full view from the summer cottage where Amy’s mother and Amanda could see the little girl at any moment. After digging, with Rover’s earnest help, a big hole, and piling up the sand so as to make a kind of a throne, Amy began to gather treasures to place around it. Rover was equally interested in this, and vied with her in finding the biggest shells, and these were arranged around the throne with smooth pebbles and bits of seaweed ; but the seaweed was what Rover most liked hunting for, and he was not contented with dragging up the pieces which were already on the shore, but insisted on swimming in the beautiful, cool, green waves after bits of Boating weed ; while Amy, wild with joy, danced up and down seizing the pieces as soon as they were out of the wet, and urging Rover on to renewed efforts. Suddenly he swam further out than usual, and seemed to be after a mysterious object bobbing up and down in the waves in a most comical way. It almost seemed alive, and Amy fancied she could see it give signals of distress ; then some wave, larger than usual, would for a moment entirely conceal it. But Rover was not to be daunted, and on he swam ; finally he turned and went round in a circle, then she knew he must be examining it. Suddenly he went straight at it, then a big wave with a roar splashed over him, and both lie and the mysterious object disappeared. But water has no terrors for a Newfoundland dog, and, a moment later. Rover, with something in his mouth, loomed up over the breakers, and quickly reached the shallow water, where he stood for an instant, proud as a king, while Amy, on seeing

what he held, dropped her pail and shovel in amazement. And what do you suppose it was ? A great, big, yellow-haired doll ! Yes, a real doll; clothed in what was once a beautiful gown. With a cry of astonishment Amy rushed for the treasure and pressed her, all dripping wet, in her warm arms. The poor dolly’s eyes were closed and she seemed very cold. Then Amy remembered the rules she hail heard about how to revive people who were nearly drowned. First she laid the doll down on the hot sand, and gently patted her back, while a lot of water came out of her mouth. Next, she quickly took off some of her wet clothes, which, even in her excitement, she noticed were very rich and fashionable. Then, after giving her a gentle rubbing, she remembered the pictures of rolling a half-drowned person over a barrel, so she seized her little wooden pail ami began rolling the doll on it. Suddenly she heard a very faint, queer voice saying : ‘ Twinkle, twinkle, little star. How—l—won—der—what—you—arc!’ ‘ My gracious me,’ almost yelled Amy, holding the doll at arm s length. ‘ How I wonder what you are ! My Amanda can say papa and mamma, but 1 never before heard a poetry doll.’ And even Rover, who had been most interestedly watching Amy’s efforts, gave a surprised bark. But in a moment Amy was working with renewed energy over the wet doll, whose eyes were now wide open, ami again the strange voice spoke, saying : • Break, break, break. On thy cold, grey stones. O sea!' * Poor dolly,’ said Amy, almost crying with sympathy and excitement. ‘ She must be out of her head ami don’t yet know she is saved from the ocean. ’ And Rover, who seemed equally anxious, licked the dolly’s cold, wet face. Amy realized the next thing was to wrap her up warmly, and let her rest; so placing her little cape softly around her, she hugged the doll in her arms, and seated herself in the pile of hot sand. It was a warm morning, and the hard work hail made Amy feel a good deal tired also. She found it very comfortable to sit quietly, holding the rescued doll, with Hover lying at her side. Suddenly the strange little voice began again, and Amy could hear every word : ‘Once I was a young girl, a young girl, a young girl; Once I was a young girl, and then, oh then—’ ‘ O, what theti !’ cried Amy, anxious to hear all about it. ‘ Do tell me, what then ?’ There was a long silence ; even Rover crawled a little nearer. Then the doll in a distinct, though husky, voice said : ‘ They do these things so differently in Paris.’ ‘ Oh dear,’ said Amy, feeling afraid she hail not exactly followed the rules for reviving a drowning person, ‘ Oh dear, what things ?’ ‘Does sea water discolour an impmted French gown?’ murmured the doll, rolling up its big china blue eyes to Amy’s anxious face. Now Amy was a sensible little girl, who had been well brought up, and she was surprised that any doll, at least any doll or education, should begin to worry the very first thing about dress ; and there was Rover with his ears up, hearing every word, and the doll had begun to talk of her gown, before expressing one word of thanks to him for saving her life. Amy was so afraid his feelings would be hurt that she felt annoyed with the doll, and she answered rather sharply : ‘ There are a good many tilings in this world of more importance than dress !’ Then, in a kindlier tone, she continued, ‘ Do tell us how- you happened to be drowning all by yourself, out in the ocean ?’ ‘ Because I couldn't swim,’ said the doll.

‘ But- how came you to fall in the water ?’ ‘ I didn’t fall in, I was washed overboard. You see we were all on a picnic in a lovely yacht. I had just been making myself entertaining. lam never seasick, not even when I went to Paris ’ * What !’ said Amy, forgetting how rude it was to interrupt, • Have you been to Paris?’ ‘ Indeed I have. Why haven't you ever heard of Clarissa Clarion ? I’m the famous talking doll. Why, we, myself and our set,’continued Miss Clarion, in her vainness mentioning herself first, ‘ made a deal of talk in Paris.’ * I should think so,’ said Amy. ‘ Oh, I don’t mean that we talked a great deal, but that people talked a great deal of us ; we were considered so interesting. We were everywhere received with great honour, and were one of the sights of the great Exposition. ‘Oh, I’ve seen pictures of the buildings,’ cried Amy, all interest. ‘Do tell me all about it. Miss Clarion. But first, how did you get washed overboard ?’ * Well, I was over-bored with the company of some very common dolls, who could only say mamma, and after having amused the party with my recitations of “ Twinkle, twinkle,” etc., I was resting on one side of the yacht, the sea was pretty rough and there was a good breeze. Suddenly a big putt'of wind struck us, and 1 heard the captain cry, “ Heads from under,” and, amidst shrieks from the girls, everyone rushed from my side as the big boom swung over. Then the boat seemed to turn and tip way over on my side, and, almost the same instant, a big wave washed over me, and I was thrown violently from my seat, amidst the wildest excitement, and soaked through and through ; and, before anyone could reach me, I was seized by another great wave—’ ‘ Oh,’ cried Amy, ‘ how awful !’ ‘ Yes,’ cried the doll, getting very much excited. • Before I could say “ twinkle,” another big wave like a mountain swept down upon me. Seizing me in its grasp, I was whirled into the midst of the raging ocean.’ With a shriek, Amy sprang up—it seemed as if she too could feel the great wave seizing her, as if the cold ocean was already around her. Ami something »•«.< pulling at her and she did feel the cold wave—the tide had quietly come in while she was wrapped up in < 'larissa's story, anil Rover, dear old Rover, was pulling at her dress to make her get up. Time and time again, little Amy would take Miss Clarissa to a quiet nook and try to induce her to finish the story of being washed overboard, or to tell of her Paris trip ami the great Exposition, but nothing more than poetry could she ever get from the doll’s lips. However, Amy still believes that some time, after the effects of the accident have worn away, Clarissa will again resume her story—and perhaps she will.