“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I’m hanging on to the end of that young tree, and it keeps going up and down like a spring, and it won’t go any nearer than about twelve feet from the ground. Would you drop?”
Whish! Rush! Crash! Thud!
The young tree sprang up again, cleaving a way for itself through the thick growth, and standing nearly erect once more, ragged and sadly deprived of its elegant proportions, just as a dull sound announced Don’s arrival on terra firma.
“All right, Jem!” he cried. “Not hurt. Look here; spread your arms out well and catch tight round the tree as you jump at it. You’ll slip down some distance and scratch yourself, but you can’t hurt much.”
“I hear, Mas’ Don,” said Jem, drawing a long breath full of relief. “I’m a-coming. It’s like taking physic,” he added to himself; “but the sooner you takes it, the sooner it’s down. Here goes! Say, Mas’ Don, do you ketch hold o’ the tree with your hands, or your arms and legs?”
“All of them. Aim straight at the stem, and leap out boldly.”
“Oh, yes,” grumbled Jem; “it’s all very well, but I was never ’prenticed to this sort o’ fun.—Below!”
“A good bold jump, Jem. I’m out of the way.”
“Below then,” said Jem again.