"Ye see he's trying to spread hisself out," John Binder explained in
pacific tones. "I reckon he thinks it'll bear him if he shifts half of
his weight on to his hands."
The girl got nearer to the mason, and looked up at him with her eyes
full of tears.
"Thank ye, John," she said. "D'ye think he'll get him out?"
"Maybe he will, my lass. He's a man that knows what he's doing. I'll say
so much for him."
"Nay!" added the mason sorrowfully. "Th' ice 'll never hold him--his
hand's in--and there goes his knee. Maester! maester!" he shouted, "come
off! come off!" and many a voice besides mine echoed him, "Come off!
come off!"
The girl got John Binder by the arm, and said hoarsely, "Fetch him off!
He's a reight good 'un--over good to be drownded, if--if it's of no
use." And she sat down on the bank, and pulled her mill-shawl over her
head, and cried as I had never seen any one cry before.
I was so busy watching her that I did not see that Mr. Wood had got back
to the bank. Several hands were held out to help him, but he shook his
head and said--"Got a knife?"
Two or three jack-knives were out in an instant.
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