Perhaps had he been asked later just how he managed to get that knife out of his pocket, and the largest blade opened, Paul might have some trouble in telling.
The first thing he knew, he was again pushing himself inch by inch closer to the boy who was hung up in the tree, and feeling for the rope that held Nuthin fast.
When, after a little, he had found it, Paul prepared to press the edge of his knife against the same.
"Oh! please hurry, Paul; I'm awfully afraid the tree will go down!" he heard Nuthin cry.
But Paul had another problem to face. If he cut suddenly there would be nothing to support the other, and Nuthin might have an ugly fall through small branches that would scratch his face still more than it had been already cut.
"Can you feel anything under your feet?" he asked, almost in the other's ear.
"Yes, I've been standing on a small limb; but sometimes I slip off when that wind swings the tree so. I'm deathly sick, Paul, and dizzy. But one of my hands is loose now. Tell me what to do, please," came back instantly, as loud as Nuthin could speak.
"That's good," declared Paul. "Feel around
just above you. Can't you get hold of a branch or two, and hang on when I cut the rope? I want to keep you from falling when the support goes."
"Why, yes, I've got hold of one, Paul," answered Nuthin, who seemed to catch a trifle of the other's coolness; "and my feet are on the one below, now."