“Now then.”
With a tremendous effort, both boys pulled together. The slender tree bent beneath their efforts. But the weight was raised! Yes! O, thank God! higher—higher! There was Bruce’s head at the edge, and now his shoulders. And now he himself, by a last; despairing, convulsive effort, had flung himself forward, and was on the rock. They dragged him forward. He was saved.
Arthur burst into tears, and held Bruce in his arms. Bart rushed off for water. Returning in a few minutes with his leathern cup,—which he always carried,—full of cold water, he gave it to Bruce. The fainting boy drank it, and then drew a long breath.
“God bless you, boys!” he said at last, wringing the hand of each. He would have said more, but he could not.
“I’ll be all right’ presently,” said he, taking a long breath. “My heart feels painful;” and he pressed his hand against his breast. “Don’t bother any more, Bart. I’m coming round fast. Just let’s sit here, and be quiet for a little while.”
They sat there in silence for some time; and gradually the color began to come back to Bruce’s face.
Suddenly the crackling of brushwood was heard, avid Mr. Long came running up to them, his face as pale as death, and his eyes round with the horror of a frightful suspense. The moment he saw the little group, he flung himself on his knees by Bruce, and, catching him in his arms, he kissed him again and again.
“Thank God! O, thank God!” he moaned, and burst into tears.
Hitherto Mr. Long had the reputation, among the boys, of being a hard, unfeeling man; but from that moment this opinion was changed.
Mr. Long said nothing more at that time, partly because he did not wish to distress. Bruce by any questions just then, and partly because he was so faint, from the tremendous rush up the cliff, that he could not speak. In fact, for a time he seemed as much broken as Bruce. So they sat quietly together waiting.