Time passed and the perspiration stood out on the crippled lad's forehead and trickled down into his eyes and the corners of his mouth. Yet he did not pause for a second.
He stretched the arms out, brought them in and pressed down upon the chest.
Again and again and again.
Fifteen minutes passed, and there was no sign.
Probably further work was of no use, but Anton persisted. He could not stop, as long as there was a chance.
Out, in again, and pressure on the chest.
A clatter of approaching wheels caused Anton to look up. It was the buggy, with his father whipping the pony to full speed, returning along the road to find out what accident had happened. Anton shouted, but did not stop.
Out, in again, and pressure on the chest.
The buggy stopped and his father jumped out.
"Who is it?" he asked.