"Ross," answered Anton, "struck by lightning!"
"Dead?" queried his father.
"He can't be!" declared Anton passionately, and went on with his artificial respiration.
"Let me do that a while," said his father.
"Wait!" cried Anton.
He thought he saw an eyelid flutter.
Out, in again, and pressure on the chest.
"He's coming to!" the man declared.
Yes, that was a movement. The lips parted. There was a faint heave of the chest, and Anton's father, stooping down, felt a slight trembling of the boy's heart. It fluttered, hesitated, stopped; then trembled again, and struck into a low soft throb, irregular indeed, but still a definite throb.
Out, in again, and pressure on the chest.