“Put your arms around my neck,” she commanded. “I can get you out.”
“I’m heavy—”
“No matter. Hurry! I’m freezing!”
Never was a stream forded more perilously. If she slipped they would both be down, and there was that gurgling, swirling little pool, over where a furnace ought to have been.
“Hold tight,” she cautioned. “Just a few more steps!”
Out of the water, and on to the narrow landing at the foot of the stairs at last. She turned to let Marty slide down from her shoulders.
“Oh!” she gasped. “Wasn’t it awful! But your foot. Where does it hurt?”
“Here.” He touched the injured ankle. “I went in a hole! Gosh! the whole bottom must be out of the cellar. It’s like a river!”
“Maybe it is—a lost river. But wait till I get the candle and see your ankle.”
A slam! A door slam! They both started. “Gee whiz! The door’s slammed shut!” exclaimed Marty, dismay echoing in that water filled basin.