"I won't," 'Possum said, with a sob. "You ain't goin' to give in, Dad. Think of the kids—I can't manage them boys."
"I'm near done, 'Poss."
"No, you're not. The Sale boat'll be along in less than an hour now. She'll pick us up, I bet you."
"It'd be a miracle if she did," Nick said. "What with the row of her engines, an' her passengers all talkin', how on earth's any one to hear us in the dark? It's no good, my girl. I'll drop off."
"If you do, I'll only come in after you, an' finish the way you do," said 'Possum between her teeth. "It ain't like you, Dad, to be such a jolly old coward. You got to hang on, for the kids' sake."
"I'll try a bit longer," said her father meekly. "But I'm dead beat, 'Poss."
They fell silent again, save for the water lapping gently against their poor place of refuge. Unbearable pains were beginning to torment 'Possum; her feet, from standing on the narrow mast, were swollen and agonizingly painful, and pains like red-hot wires shot up her legs. Sometimes she let herself go into the water altogether, holding to the boat; but she was too weak to cling for long, and soon she was forced to climb back to her place of torture. Her father no longer spoke. She could see him dimly, leaning forward astride of the boat, and breathing heavily.
Somehow the hour dragged by, and again the low throb came across the lake. 'Possum strained her eyes. At first the gloom was too thick to pierce, but presently she made out a dull glow from the steamer's lights, and could see the red gleam of the lantern at her mast. 'Possum cried to her father.
"Dad! It's the Sale boat. Yell!"
