"Take my word for it," said the ferryman, an old sailor, "the wind'll be blowing west afore morning."
"Pray God it may!" ejaculated the minister, and many a silent prayer was uttered.
"Now, boys, let us return home. We can do no good standing here. We'll come back in an hour or so."
"Listen!" exclaimed Tom, as the boys splashed through the water on their way home. Laying his hand on Joe's shoulder, he cried, "Do you hear that?"
"Don't hear anything but the roar of the river," replied Joe, as he stood in a listening attitude. "What was it?"
"Hark! there it is again. A cooee. Seems to come from up the river, near the Bend. Some un's in trouble."
"Now, boys, make haste and get in out of the rain," cried Mr. Blain, who had hurried along.
"Some one's crying out for help at the Bend," shouted Joe.
The minister paused on hearing this. A moment later the cry came out of the night: faint, because of the distance and the turmoil of sounds, yet clear and convincing.
"Great God! some poor soul in dire straits, and no help possible before morning!"