“Bob, be done! You’ll put my eye out!” cried poor Tom, desperately, as the swinging iron hook circled around his head.
“Catch hold! Catch hold!” cried Bob, getting excited as he saw how near he came to grappling his brother.
“Just let me get up once, and I’ll catch hold,” muttered Tom, wrathfully; then, raising his voice, he yelled as loud as he could for help. “Pete! P-e-e-e-e-ter! P-e-e-e-e-e-e-ter!”
But Peter was a mile away, and consequently could not hear. Maggie had improved the occasion of her master’s absence to visit her friend and neighbor, Miss Flaherty, for half an hour; and Kate, summoned from her baking, came to the rescue, but only assisted by wringing her hands and wailing.
But All the United Efforts of Bess and Bob and Archie’s Left Arm could not Raise Tom
“Och, he’s lost wid the cold! Shure an’ he’ll get his death now! Arrah, what childer yez arre!”
“Take hold of the rope and pull,” cried Bess.
“I couldn’t rise him; shure an’ I’d only pull him up be snaps, and dhrop him again,” said Kate, who showed a lamentable want of confidence in her own abilities.