For many a year afterwards I used to dream of his face as he sank, and
of the way the ice heaved like the breast of some living thing, and fell
back, and of the heavy waves that rippled over it out of that awful
hole. But great as was the shock, it was small to the storm of shame and
agony that came over me when I realized that every comrade who had been
around the lad had saved himself by a rush to the bank, where we huddled
together, a gaping crowd of foolhardy cowards, without skill to do
anything or heart to dare anything to save him.
At that time it maddened me so, that I felt that if I could not help the
lad I would rather be drowned in the hole with him, and I began to
scramble in a foolish way down the bank, but John Binder caught me by
the arm and pulled me back, and said (I suppose to soothe me),
"Yon's the school-master, sir;" and then I saw Mr. Wood fling himself
over the hedge by the alder thicket (he was rather good at high jumps),
and come flying along the bank towards us, when he said,
"What's the matter?"
I threw my arms round him and sobbed, "He was cutting a double three
backwards, and he went in.
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