“O yes. I thought I might help, you know,” was the complacent remark of Charlie, who had improved his time, and, while keeping his “ears out,” had been putting his legs into his pants as rapidly as possible.
“You have been smarter than your aunt, but she will be there soon.”
Charlie showed Will where the lantern hung in the back entry, and together they went into the barn.
“Here is the door,” said Charlie, “that lets folks into the dock.”
“But how do you get the thing open?” asked Will, flashing the light of his lantern upon the door.
“I will open it,” said Aunt Stanshy, who now appeared, and already decided that the door might be consistently opened for a good deed’s sake. She carried a hammer in her hand, which she energetically swung about the driven nails, soon removing them. Then she threw back the door, and out into the black night peered anxiously. How long it had been since the last time that she had looked out from that door! She could see nothing at first, but in a moment made out a man’s form below. As the rays of Aunt Stanshy’s lamp shone out, they made a bridge of light that stretched off into the mist, as if anxious to reach the river and bridge it for some poor, helpless soul in the water.
“Say, friend, you down there?” called out Will.
A voice below answered, “Yesh—hic—I’ll help you—up—”
“You will? Better let me help you first.”
“Shuit yourself—hic.”