“She’ll be drowned!” ejaculated Darry.
“Not if I can help it!” came from Harry.
He flung off his jacket and shoes, and without hesitation ran down the river bank a hundred feet or more. Then he plunged in and began to swim toward the little girl with all the strength at his command.
Ordinarily Harry was a good swimmer, but the chopping down of three trees had tired him, and by the time he gained the middle of the river Mary Pembly had floated past the spot. Panting somewhat for breath, Harry made after her.
She was going down again, when he caught hold of her arm, and drew her toward him.
“Oh, help me, please!” she spluttered, and then caught him around the neck in a tight embrace.
“Don’t—don’t hold me so tight!” he gasped. “I’ll—I’ll save you.”
But he could not reason with her, and in her fright she only clung tighter than ever, until he was nearly strangled.
“Harry is having his hands full,” cried Joe, as he ran along the river bank watching the scene.
“If he isn’t careful, they’ll both go down,” put in Darry.