He pointed to the alder
thicket. "I want two poles," he said, "sixteen feet long, if you can,
and as thick as my wrist at the bottom."
"All right, sir."
He sat down on the bank, and I rushed up and took one of his cold wet
hands in both mine, and said, "Please, please, don't go on any more."
"He must be dead ever so long ago," I added, repeating what I had heard.
"He hasn't been in the water ten minutes," said the school-master,
laughing, "Jack! Jack! you're not half ready for travelling yet. You
must learn not to lose your head and your heart and your wits and your
sense of time in this fashion, if you mean to be any good at a pinch to
yourself or your neighbours. Has the rope come?"
"No, sir."
"Those poles?" said the school-master, getting up.
"They're here!" I shouted, as a young forest of poles came towards us,
so willing had been the owners of the jack-knives. The thickest had
been cut by the heavy man, and Mr. Wood took it first.
"Thank you, friend," he said. The man didn't speak, and he turned his
back as usual, but he gave a sideways surly nod before he turned. The
school-master chose a second pole, and then pushed both before him right
out on to the ice, in such a way that with the points touching each
other they formed a sort of huge A, the thicker ends being the nearer to
the bank.
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