“Ahoy!” came the shout again.
“Ahoy!” answered Dick.
“That will do, my boy,” panted the squire. “The water’s getting horribly deep, but I can manage now, for I can tell which way to go.”
“Little more to the left, father,” cried Dick.
“Right, boy!”
“No, no, father,” shrieked Dick; “left!”
“I meant you are right, my lad,” said the squire, moving on, with the water growing deeper still, while the stentorian voice kept uttering cheering shouts to them, which they answered till they were only about fifty yards away, when it became plain that someone was coming to meet them, splash, splash, through the water, with a pole in his hand.
The figure, though only head and half his body were visible above the plashing water, looked large, and for a few moments in his confusion Dick was puzzled; but he realised who it was at last, and cried:
“Why, it’s old Hicky!”
He was right; and just in the veriest time of need the great blacksmith reached the fainting squire, and grasping his arm breasted the water with him; and in another minute they were ascending the slope, with the water shallowing, till they reached a blazing fire, where Mrs Winthorpe clasped husband and son to her breast!