"Nonsense, we'll both pull through all right. Pluck up courage." Then as he noticed a piece of rope attached to the spar, "I do believe I'm still a dull'ead. Here we 'ave been floating in danger of falling off through weakness every moment and there is the means of our salvation."
He plucked out a knife from his pocket and severed the rope at the end from the spar and passing it around Ande and himself securely lashed themselves to the float.
"There, if we can't hold out much longer, we'll at least be on top of the water as long as this spar floats."
There was silence for another half an hour and then Ande said wearily.
"Dick, if you get back to land—and I don't,—you—remember me to mother and tell her I—died a Christian."
"Aye, aye, old fellow, but cheer up!" But the tears in his own eyes indicated that he needed his own advice.
"We must trust in God, Dick."
"Aye," said the other, as he reached over and shook hands earnestly.
"And Dick, remember me to her."
"Aye," said Dick once more. He knew for quite a time Ande's interest in the squire's daughter, and that "her" could mean no one else.