He started with the light held high. The wind blew it out. They had to go back to relight it. Kate knew they would burn their fingers, and she prayed they would not set the house on fire. When the light showed again, at the top of her lungs she screamed: "Adam, set the broom on fire and carry it to the end of the bridge; the water isn't deep enough to hurt you." She tried twice, then she saw him give Polly the lamp, and run down the hall. He came back in an instant with the broom. Polly held the lamp high, Adam went down the walk to the gate and started up the sidewalk. "He's using his head," said Kate to the tree. "He's going to wait until he reaches the bridge to start his light, so it will last longer. THAT is BATES, anyway. Thank God!"
Adam scratched several matches before he got the broom well ignited, then he held it high, and by its light found the end of the bridge. Kate called to him to stop and plunging and splashing through mud and water, she reached the bridge before the broom burned out. There she clung to the railing she had insisted upon, and felt her way across to the boy. His thin cotton night shirt was plastered to his sturdy little body. As she touched him Kate lifted him in her arms, and almost hugged the life from him.
"You big man!" she said. "You could help Mother! Good for you!"
"Is the dam gone?" he asked.
"Part of it," said Kate, sliding her feet before her, as she waded toward Polly in the doorway.
"Did Father shut the sluice-gate, to hear the roar?"
Kate hesitated. The shivering body in her arms felt so small to her.
"I 'spect he did," said Adam. "All day he was fussing after you stopped the roar." Then he added casually: "The old fool ought-a known better. I 'spect he was drunk again!"
"Oh, Adam!" cried Kate, setting him on the porch. "Oh, Adam! What makes you say that?"
"Oh, all of them at school say that," scoffed Adam. "Everybody knows it but you, don't they, Polly?"