“An awful lot of water fell,” Tom said soberly.
“Goodness! The swamp is full,” agreed Nan.
“We may have some trouble in reaching Toby's place,” the boy added. “But maybe—”
He halted in his speech, and the next instant pulled the horses down to a willing stop. “Hark-a-that!” whispered Tom.
“Can it be anybody crying? Maybe it's a wildcat,” said Nan, with a vivid remembrance of her adventure in the snow that she had never yet told to any member of the family.
“It's somebody shouting, all right,” observed Tom. “Up ahead a way. Gid-ap!”
He hurried the horses on, and they slopped through the water which, in places, flowed over the road, while in others it actually lifted the logs from their foundation and threatened to spoil the roadway entirely.
Again and again they heard the faint cry, a man's voice. Tom stood up and sent a loud cry across the swamp in answer:
“We're coming! Hold on!
“Don't know what's the matter with him,” he remarked, dropping down beside Nan again, and stirring the horses to a faster pace. “S'pose he's got into a mud-hold, team and all, maybe.”