He was a woodsman. In his veins coursed the irresistible life of the woods which when the sap runs freely in the hidden roots of a young tree will make it cleave the solid rock in order to find daylight and grow, if every other outlet is denied it.
It was like cleaving the granite rock to draw this girl’s body, three-parts sunken, back to daylight—a terrible duel between sand and man—in which Jessica felt as if her arms were being torn quivering from their sockets.
But, glory to Life! the man won.
Little by little the quicksands loosened their sucking hold; inch by inch she was lifted until the sands had no further claim even upon her feet in their soaking canvas shoes.
Then, free, she was borne along the bridging plank in the arms which had rescued her and on over the sands to the very first firm spot, where she was thrown down almost violently in the rescuer’s hurry to get back with the plank to the aid of the Eagle Scout whose distorted body could not maintain its crooked position any longer, even for dear life’s sake.
Jessica felt a boyish hand helping her to her feet, presently, and guiding her along to the beach, she following blindly.
The boy’s head was very red, his face like chalk.
“Oh!” he said, and she recognized Kenjo’s voice. “Oh-h! if Toiney hadn’t been here, you’d have kept on going an’ going—you’d have sunk out o’ sight in five minutes. I—I couldn’t ha’ got out to you, after Stack got stuck!”
“‘Five minutes!’” The girl stopped and stared at him wildly, snatching her hand away. “Oh, I should think you’d know enough not to say a thing like that—to me!”
Her nerves gave way. She threw herself down on the drying beach and sobbed and sobbed as she had never cried even in childhood when, according to her Cousin Anne, she had the happiest child-disposition in the world, when she took her gaiety to bed with her, played a “flower game” with her mother at night and won the name of Morning-Glory.