A whole hour passes, and hope itself begins to die in the poor girl’s breast, when oh! joy, from far away in the forest comes a shout.
“Coo-ee-ee!”
Then a shrill whistle. Then silence. She knows that assistance is not far off, if she can only make them hear. She knows that the silence which succeeds the shouting means that they are listening for a response.
She tries to answer, but no sound much louder than a whisper can she emit. The cold dews have rendered her almost voiceless.
Now she shakes and tries to arouse Harry.
“Harry, Harry, awake, dear!”
“Whe—where am I?” cries the boy, rubbing his eyes.
“In the forest, Harry; in a tree.”
“Oh, I remember now,” says Harry, smiling, and looking down; “and there’s Towsie. What a jolly sleep I’ve had, Guvie! Have you?”
Again came the shout, this time somewhat nearer.