“Maybe it will stop before that happens,” said Agnes, in reply. “What a lot of things are coming down!” She turned to Polly who had come out to see. “Oh, Polly, see, there is a shed and a lot of furniture, and oh, see, there is a queer-looking raft! There is a man on it. If he should get into that snarl of trees there, it would be bad for him. It is such a little raft. See, he is trying to steer out of the way of those snags! No, he isn’t! Oh, Polly, what is he trying to do?”
“Trying to make a fool of himsel’, as near as I can make out. Why doesn’t he try to pole himself out of the way of those stumps? He’s in danger, and if he gets into the middle of the current, he’s gone.”
“There’s something on the stump, and he’s trying to get it!” cried Agnes. “What can it be? O dear, dear! and we must stand here without being able to help him.” She looked around for Parker, but he was gone.
The snarl of stumps was drifting toward the current, and they could see that the man on the frail little raft was trying his best to keep raft and stumps from midstream. “If he only knew how near he was to the top of the river bank on the other side of the run, he might make it. It’s fair wonderful how he manages; one ’ud think nobody could live in such a rage of waters!” Polly exclaimed.
“Look there!” suddenly cried Agnes.
“For the land’s sake!” Polly ejaculated. “If there isn’t Park Willett in a boat! If he isn’t foolhardy, I wouldn’t say it. Now what is he going to do?”
“I see,” returned Agnes; “he is going to try to get across the run and reach the other bank. O dear! he’ll stick in the tree-tops and that will be the end of him. Oh, I don’t want to look! I can’t look! I wonder where father is; I hope he is safe.”
“He’s nowhere about here; he’s gone to the other clearing,” Polly told her.
“And we must stand here and see them drown!” Agnes began to wring her hands.
“We needn’t. You can go in,” returned Polly, sarcastically. “I’m willing to bet my Sunday dinner that Park’ll make it. There he goes!”