Many years ago a little boy, named Gilbert, lived in a small town in New Brunswick, on the banks of the St. John River. The river is deep and swift; and Gilbert's papa had often warned him not to go too near the brink.
One day, when the little fellow was about six years old, he went with his papa down to the river; and, while his papa stopped to talk with a friend, Gilbert wandered along the shore.
He took with him his fishing-rod, and thought it would be fine fun to catch a fish all by himself: so he went close to the edge of the water, and dropped in his line.
After waiting a few minutes without getting a bite, he thought he would walk out on a raft that he saw close by, and try his luck in a new spot. He crept along till he reached the outer edge of the raft; but then, as he threw out his line, his little bare feet slipped, and over he went, plump into the river. A splash, a scream, and down he went.
At the time of this story, there were a good many Indians in New Brunswick; and a party of them were in camp in the woods near the river. They were harmless, peaceable Indians, and very friendly to the boys of the neighborhood, who liked to visit their tents, and see them weave baskets, and make bows and arrows, and scarlet slippers, and other pretty things.
Luckily for Gilbert, an Indian boy happened to be fishing near the raft, and saw him slip off into the water. Although the Indian boy was not much older than Gilbert, he was larger and stronger, and he knew how to swim. In an instant he plunged into the river, seized the poor little drowning boy, and brought him to the land safe and sound.
His papa took him in his arms, all wet and dripping, and, after thanking the brave Indian boy for his noble deed, hurried home, scolding Gilbert by the way for disobedience. Poor little Gilbert was very miserable. It was not at all nice to be wet and frightened and scolded all at once; and, worse than all, he feared he would be punished when he got home.
So, when his papa carried him into the kitchen, it was a great comfort to the little fellow to see his good grandmother sitting by the fire. She was very fond of Gilbert; and, when she saw what a plight he was in, she begged his papa not to punish the dear child this time, saying she was sure he had been punished enough already by his fright and his ducking.
His papa was so happy to have his little boy alive and safe, that it was easy to forgive him; and in a little while Gilbert was dressed in dry clothes, and sat down on his little stool before the fire to eat a red apple which his grandmother had brought him.
That night, when little Gilbert said his prayer, he put in at the end, "God bless the brave Indian boy who saved my life!"
