“I don’t know—I don’t think so, but I feel queer. I must get down,” Cora managed to say.
By this time the others had reached the spot. Bess and Belle were almost hysterical lest Cora should lose her hold and again fall to a more dangerous landing. But the hired men stationed themselves under the tree, and, with their strong arms netted beneath the giant evergreen, they waited for Mr. Stevens to give an order.
“All ready?” asked Mr. Stevens.
“Yes, sir,” replied the men.
“Young lady, can you get free of the branches?” he called to Cora.
“I am directly over a great hole,” she answered timidly, “and I am afraid I cannot hold on another minute.”
“Then drop,” said the farmer. “We will catch you. Don’t be afraid. You can’t escape the arms of Sam and Frank!”
“Oh, if she should go to the bottom,” wailed Belle, covering her face with her trembling hands and uttering sighs and sobs. Bess was more courageous, but equally frightened.
Sam and Frank stood like human statues. Clasped hand to wrist, their sunburned arms looked strong and secure.
Presently there was a fluttering in the leaves—a slide through the branches and Cora dropped—down on the human net of arms, safe, and seemingly sound, but too weak to recover herself at once from the strange position.