The prayer that had come from Baldry's lips a moment since came from Paul's.
"God, help me! What am I to do?"
He gave another swift glance into Hibbert's face. It seemed to smile at him, as though in answer to his prayer. "Go," it seemed to say. The next instant Paul plunged into the river, swimming towards the two boys, with the same swift stroke which had enabled him to reach Hibbert's side.
As he cut through the water, his right hand struck against something. His fingers closed round it. It was the punting-pole that Plunger had lost, and which had been partly responsible for the accident. God had answered his prayer. He had helped him. It would have been impossible for him to have saved the two fast-drowning boys by his own unaided efforts. Now it was possible.
"Catch hold!" he cried, as he directed one end of the pole to Baldry and Plunger.
They eagerly gripped it; then, grasping the other end, Paul swam to shore. It was a strange freight he was towing—two human lives. And his heart seemed beating like the valve of a steam-tug as he reached the bank and pulled his freight ashore.
"You're a brick—that's what you are, Percival!" were the first words that Plunger gasped, as he struggled, with the water dripping from him, up the bank.
Baldry's eyes had gone to the still figure lying on the grass.
"It's—it's the Camel! What—what's wrong with him?" he asked, as he stood gazing at the still form. "Is—is he dead?"
"I hope not—I think not," said Paul, as he raised the slight figure in his arms. "I must leave you fellows to look after yourselves."