“No,” objected Oscar; “let me go. I ought to be game for that.” And he laughed.
“Well, yes, half sailor and all, you ought to know best.” How lightly those boys could speak, though their hearts were throbbing quickly with the thought of what might happen. “If I had a rope, I’d let you down; then if you’d land them on the ledge, I’d run for help, for we should never tug them up here by ourselves.”
“No,” mused Oscar. “And there is a rope in the donkey-cart—a strongish one, I think.”
Away went Dick as with winged feet, while the other stood crowned with red sunbeams, and viewed their position. Back came Dick.
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“’Twould never bear my weight,” observed Oscar, tossing off his jacket and tightening his belt for action.
“No, but it would steady you, if you’ll scramble down; or let me go down, and you hold the rope—I’m your man for either.”
“No, no, I must go down. See there, I can’t resist that,” whispered Oscar, pointing below. It was poor little Inna’s pale pleading face upturned to him in silence.
The boys had been talking and doing; the rope was fast round Oscar’s waist: a strong-looking rope, but weak, when one considered that it was in a sense to hold a life in its keeping.
“Oh, Dick!” cried Jenny from below, “the water is dashing up to our feet!”
Yes, the boys could see it was so—the twins were clinging together, and Inna stood with her arms thrown about them both.