Don did not reply, but drew a long breath, as he slowly descended the perilous natural ladder, which seemed interminable.
They were now going down pretty close together, and nearly on a level, presence and example giving to each nerve and endurance to perform the task.
“Steady, dear lad, steady!” cried Jem suddenly, as there was a sharp crack and a slip.
“Piece I was resting on gave way,” said Don hoarsely, as he hung at the full length of his arms, vainly trying to get a resting-place for his feet.
Jem grasped the position in an instant, but remained perfectly cool.
“Don’t kick, Mas’ Don.”
“But I can’t hang here long, Jem.”
“Nobody wants you to, my lad. Wait a minute, and I’ll be under you, and set you right.
“‘There was a man in Bristol city,’”
he sang cheerily, as he struggled sidewise. “‘Fol de—’ I say, Mas’ Don, he was a clever one, but I believe this here would ha’ bothered him. It’s hold on by your eyelids one minute, and wish you was a fly next.”