I grew more and more numbed and helpless, and but for the fact that I hung there by my hands being crooked over the edge of the board across the wheel, I believe I must have fallen back, but my fingers stiffened into position and helped me to retain my hold, till at last they began to give way.
I had been thinking of home and of my uncles, and wondering how soon they would find me, and all in a dull nerveless way, for I suppose I was too much exhausted to feel much mental or bodily pain, when all at once I began to recall stories I had read about the Saint Bernard dogs and the travellers in the snow; and then about the shepherds’ collies in the north and the intelligence they displayed.
Several such tales came to my memory, and I was just thinking to myself that they were all nonsense, for if dogs had so much intelligence, why had not Piter, who had a head big enough for a double share of dogs’ brains, gone and fetched somebody to help me, instead of making his own escape, and then going and curling himself up by one of the furnaces to get dry—a favourite place of his if he had the chance.
Just then, as I seemed to be half asleep, I heard a sharp bark at a distance, then another nearer, and directly after Piter was on the top of the wheel, where he had stepped from the sluice trough, barking with all his might.
“Wheer is he then, boy? Wheer is he then?” said a gruff hoarse voice.
Piter barked more furiously than ever, and the glow seemed to give way to darkness overhead, as the voice muttered:
“Dear, dear! Hey! Think o’ that now. Mester Jacob, are you theer?”
“Help!” I said, so faintly that I was afraid I should not be heard.
“Wheerabouts? In the watter?”
“I’m—on—the wheel,” I cried weakly, and then, as I heard the sound of someone drawing in his breath, I strove to speak once more and called out: