The time seemed very long to Harry down there, and to the others waiting above. At last Yaspard could keep silence no longer, so leaning over, he shouted, "Is he—any better? Can't you sing out something to us, Harry?"
"I have been able to do a little, and I think Tom is reviving," was the cheering news Harry sang out in reply.
Tom really was coming round, and the first sign he made was a groan, and then a murmured "Time to get up, did you say?"
"Oh, Tom," Harry cried, bending close to the wounded head on his arm, and shedding some tears that were not an unmanly sign of gladness at hearing Tom's voice once more; "Tom, old chap, I'm as sorry as can be for giving you the rough side of my tongue many a time."
"Eh, what?" faltered Tom. "Is that Harry speaking? Are you there, mother? What's up? I don't quite know; my head feels queer—oh dear!"
He had tried to raise himself as he spoke, and had been checked by agonising pain, which caused him to relapse into insensibility.
"How awful this is! I wish they'd make haste up there," thought Harry. And then he turned, as the Manse boys had always been taught to turn in trials, to Him who is near at all times, a present help in time of trouble.
When Tom revived again, the first thing he heard was Harry Mitchell's voice faltering forth prayers to God for His unfortunate comrade; and I think that the childish antagonism which had so long existed between those two died out just then. But now a great flare of light fell on them, and the noise and talk overhead told that relief was coming.
"What does it all mean, Harry?" Tom asked feebly.
"You fell down here, and Yaspard is coming with a light and things to help you out. Cheer up, Tom; we'll have you out and all right before long."