“That’s the way home,” said Aladdin. Margaret looked wistfully down-stream, her eyes as misty as the fog.
“If we had the boat we could go now,” said Aladdin.
Then he sat moody, evolving enterprise, and neither spoke for a long time.
“Marg’ret,” said Aladdin, at length, “help me find a big log near the water.”
“What you going to do, ‘Laddin?”
“You ‘ll see. Help look.”
They crept along the edge of the island, now among the close-growing trees and now on the bare strip between them and the water, until at length they came upon a big log, lying like some gnarled amphibian half in the river and half on the dry land.
“Help push,” said Aladdin.
They could move it only a little, not enough.
“Wait till I get a lever,” said Aladdin. He went, and came back with a long, stiff little birch, that, growing recklessly in the thin soil over a rock, had been willing to yield to the persuasion of a child and come up by the roots. And then, Margaret pushing her best, and Aladdin prying and grunting, the log was moved to within an ace of launching. Until now, for she was too young to understand about daring and unselfishness, Margaret had considered the log-launching as a game invented by Aladdin to while away the dreary time; but now she realized, from the look in the pale, set, freckly, almost comical face of the boy, that deeds more serious were afoot, and when he said, “Somebody’ll pick me up, sure, Marg’ret, and help me come back and get you,” she broke out crying afresh and said, “Don’t, ‘Laddin! Doo-on’t, ‘Laddin!”