"Well done—well done!"
"'Twas a marvel he cleared it."
The log goes on its way, the man standing easily as ever.
Then once more it collides. The fore end lifts—an oath is heard—next second the red jacket shows in a whirl of water. Then it disappears.
A movement of anxiety on the bridge—the watchers on the bank spring to their feet.
He is up again, swimming athwart the stream. A few powerful strokes, and he reaches the dead water close inshore.
Cursing aloud, he sits down and pours the water from his boots. One of the men posted at Akeanlinna brings him his pole—but his hat is gone. He hurries up along the bank.
"Enough—give over now!" cry those on the bridge.
"Go and tell your mother!" he answers furiously.
"Maybe he'd like to have that chart now, after all," says one, with a sly glance.