The tree creaked and moved, some smaller branches snapped, but no good was done.
“All together again,” cried Uncle Richard; and they panted and hauled, but all in vain.
“Off with that rope from the branch,” cried Uncle Richard.
This was done, and it was then made fast to another projecting root, so that all could pull at the one end.
Again the word was given, but there was no result, and after a couple more tries the task seemed hopeless, when Tom seized the saw, and began to cut at a piece of root which he had seen rise a little and move some sand.
“Hah, that’s right,” cried the Vicar; “that’s a sound root, and holds the tree down.”
In five minutes the saw was through, and once more all began to haul, when the great tree seemed to give, turning over slowly like a wheel, and amidst shouts and cheers, and a furious burst of barking from the dog, the mass turned more and more, till the whole tree, with its vast root, had made a complete revolution; and when the ropes had been made fast, to secure it, there was the great hollow clear, but the sand had gone down with a rush, and the burrow was covered in.
Tom did not wait for the trunk to be secured, for he had seen the result.
“Don’t, boy, don’t,” shouted the Vicar; “the tree may come back and crush you.”
“Let it!” muttered Tom between his teeth, as he dropped upon his knees, scooping away at the sand, helped now by the dog, which began to be too useful, and got in the way. All the same though, by the time the tree was fast the sand had been swept from Pete Warboys’ face; and David and Uncle Richard stooping and passing their hands beneath him, very little effort was required to draw him right out of the hole, and up among the pine-trees, where he was laid gently down, amid a profound silence, while Uncle Richard knelt beside him, and the dog, after a furious volley of barks, began to snuffle at its master’s face.