Don slipped off his shoes, uttered a word or two of warning, and once more mounted on Jem’s back. It was easy then to get into a kneeling, and then to a standing, position, the wall being at hand to steady him.
“That’s your sort, Mas’ Don. Now hold fast, and step up on to my shoulders as I rise myself up; that’s the way,” he continued, slowly straightening himself, and placing his hands behind Don’s legs, as he stood up, steadily, facing the wall.
“What next, Jem?”
“Next, sir? Why, I’m going to walk slowly back under the window, for you to try and open it, and look out and see where we are. Ready?”
“Yes.”
“Hold tight, sir.”
“But there’s nothing to hold by, Jem, when you move away.”
“Then you must stand fast, sir, and I’ll balance you like. I can do it.”
Don drew a long breath, and felt no faith, for as soon as Jem moved steadily from the wall, his ability in balancing was not great.
“Stand firm, sir. I’ve got you,” he said.