"Pull, Tiz, pull!" he shouted, "Run!" Tizzy obeyed and the kite followed her.
"Hoo-ray," shouted Ned, taking off his cap to give it a wave, when, crick! crack! the tree snapped twenty feet below him, and the next moment poor Ned was describing a curve in the air, for the wood and bark held the lower part like a huge hinge, while Ned clung tightly for some moments before he was flung outwards, to fall with a tremendous splash.
Poor Tizzy heard the sharp snap of the tree and turned, to gaze in horror at her brother's fall, uttering a wild shriek as she saw him disappear in the sparkling water; and then in her childlike dread she closed her eyes tightly, stopped her ears, and ran blindly across the meadow, shrieking with all her little might and keeping her eyes fast closed, till she found herself caught up and a shower of questions were put.
They were in vain at first, for the poor child was utterly dazed, hardly recognising the friendly arms which had caught her up, till those arms gave her a good shake.
"Master Ned!--why don't you speak, child ?--where's your brother ?" "Oh," shrieked Tizzy, "the water--the water! Tumbled in." "Oh, my poor darling bairn!" cried Cook, hugging Tizzy to her, as she ran towards, the river.

"I knew it--I knew it! I was always sure my own dear boy would be drowned." There was no ill-temper now, for Cook was sobbing hysterically as she ran, with the tears streaming down her cheeks, till she saw something taking place on the river which seemed to take all the strength out of her legs, for she dropped upon her knees now with her lips moving fast, but not a sound was heard.
The next minute she was hurrying again to the river-bank, towards which a man was thrusting the stern of the long narrow barge which had been passing with the heavy long boathook, which had been used to draw poor Ned out of the water as soon as he had risen to the surface.
Cook reached the bank with the child in her arms just at the same moment as the man, who leaped off the barge, carrying Ned, whose eyes were closed and head drooping over the man's shoulder.
"Oh, my poor darling boy!" wailed Cook.

"He's dead--he's dead!" "Not he, missus," cried the bargeman.

"I hooked him out too sharp.
Here, hold up, young master.

Don't you cry, little missy; he's on'y swallowed more water than's good for him.